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

by Octavia Randolph

  Another man was there upon the stone step with us, but I could not tell his estate by looking at him. He was not a thegn, and he was not a churchman, and he was not a serving man. He did not sit with us, but rather perched upon a tall stool at one end of the table, saying nothing, but listening to all. He was a man above middle-age, with a sharp and wizened face, and he held his head canted so that he seemed to be ear-first as he faced you.

  Serving men were everywhere. They carried forth two great carved oak chairs from against the wall and set them side by side; and in these great chairs sat Godwulf and Modwynn. They set benches on either side of these chairs for the rest of us, while others carried basins with water that we might wash our hands, and linen towels to dry them. Even the serving men were different from those I had ever seen before. Their tunics were clean, their hair neatly trimmed, and they worked quietly and quickly at their jobs. Modwynn spoke to one of them.

  “Bring the mead that is in the smallest cask in the black chest.”

  Gyric spoke in return. “Mother, I have been longing for your good ale. Could we not drink that first?”

  Modwynn’s face creased in pleasure. “Go to the ale-house, and bring the last cask in the line there,” she now told the serving man.

  A silver tray as round as the full Moon was carried out, and upon it sat two goblets of pure gold, and these were set before Godwulf and Modwynn. A second silver tray came, crowded with cups of silver, and silver trimmed with gold, each different from the next. One each was set before us, and I saw that Gyric’s cup had his name carved into the golden rim of it.

  The ale came, and Modwynn rose, and herself took up the ewer, and as a sign of great honour poured first for her returned son, and then for me. Then she poured out into Godwulf’s cup of gold, and then into Godwin’s of silver and gold. Lastly she poured for the young priest, and then for herself; and the chief serving man, who was like unto a steward, poured for the rest.

  Gyric moved his hand to feel the stem of his goblet, and as he touched it and took it up all eyes were upon him. He reached for my hand and held it fast as we lifted our cups.

  The ale was the kind known as bright ale, for by long standing it becomes pure and clear, so that it looks bright as it is poured. The savour of it was delicious, like walnuts and toasted loaves and cream and spice; it was none of those things, but tasted a part of all of them.

  We had one cup, and then a second, and then it was time to tell the tale.

  I sat quietly at Gyric’s side, holding his hand as he told the story. He began by telling of the last battles he fought with Ælfred while Æthelred still lived and ruled as King. There had been three battles since he had left Kilton, and each, except for the first at Æscedune, the Vale of the White Horse, had been won by the Danes. These things they had heard from others, for the battles were great ones. He told of the battle at Englafeld where he had been captured, and how he had taken the dragon banner from Ælfred, and that the Danes led by Svein had thought that he was the prince.

  I watched the faces of the others as he said this, and knew that they had heard this already, perhaps I thought, from Ælfred himself.

  Then he told, as simply as he had told me, the story of his maiming: that while he was awaiting ransom, Svein’s brother Hingvar had come and taken him in the middle of the night and put out his eyes with a flaming poker.

  His voice was quiet during all of this. Godwulf clenched his fists and looked as if he would howl again, but did not. Modwynn covered her face with her hands and sobbed. Godwin leaned forward on the table and grasped the stem of his goblet so tight that his knuckles went white. The priest held the cross he wore about his neck in his hand, and his lips moved in silent prayer. The other men sat rigid and still, turning their eyes from Gyric to Godwulf to Godwin.

  “I do not remember much more. I tried to escape later by crawling away, and was kicked until I was senseless. Then I remember nothing until I awoke in the forests of Lindisse.”

  He stopped, and turned his face to me, and all there at the table did as well.

  “My wife is Ceridwen, the daughter of a dead ealdorman of Mercia, by the Dee. She must tell you how she came to be at Lindisse, and how she carried me off.”

  I took a breath, and did not know if I could keep steady my voice. Gyric pressed my hand, and I gained calmness and courage.

  I told them of my earliest life, and of how I had come to meet Ælfwyn upon the Northly Road. They all knew of Ælfsige, and of the Peace he had tried to forge. The name of the Dane Yrling seemed to mean little to them; but then Lindisse was far from Kilton. I said that we had learnt that a man of Wessex was held captive in the cellars below the hall at Four Stones, and that as Ælfwyn was a woman of Wessex she wanted very much to help, tho’ she risked great harm from her own husband if she was found out. And the rest I told exactly as it happened, and praised at every chance Ælfwyn’s bravery and generosity, and the great courage of those who had helped us escape.

  Gyric took up the story then, and told of our adventures upon the road, and all that we had done, and all who we had met, good and bad. The last and best of these, he said, was Cadmar, who lived not two day’s ride from Kilton, and who had witnessed our pledging.

  “When were you wed?” asked Modwynn.

  “Three days ago,” answered Gyric.

  “Tonight will be a wedding-feast, as well as a thank-offering,” smiled Modwynn.

  We all sat and were quiet. Godwulf was gazing up at the roof rafters. His jaw was still clenched in anger and in grief. Godwin too had not moved, and leaned across the table, staring steadfastly at Gyric. The young priest had his head lowered. The other men sat still, watching Godwulf as if for a sign.

  Godwulf lowered his head to look at us, and began to speak. His manner was gruff, and I could see his eyes were wet.

  “Ælfred sent a rider to us the day you were captured. He did not wait for our gold, tho’, but offered his own to the Danes for your return. Godwin rode at once to Ælfred, carrying a great store of treasure with him for your wergild. But Ælfred’s own gold had been refused, and your brother could learn nothing of where you were. At last a message came to them, saying that you and your companions had been killed while trying to escape.”

  “And Ealhelm and Eadwold and Wistan and Ælfric? They have not returned?” asked Gyric. He turned his head from side to side, as if hoping one of them sat near him now, and would call out to him.

  “None of them,” answered Godwulf.

  Gyric let go the stem of his cup and sunk his forehead into his upraised hand. All were silent, looking at him, wondering if he would speak more, but he did not.

  The steward who had been standing behind Modwynn came up and whispered to her. Modwynn rose and touched her husband’s shoulder and said softly, “There is much to prepare. I will be back soon.”

  She moved away, and the steward and other serving men who had been standing nearby followed her out a rear door.

  As soon as she was gone, the table drew closer, and the air about it was tight with tension. Godwin rose and came over and stood before Gyric, the narrow table between them. Godwin had his hand on the hilt of his sword, and he gripped it so his fingers had no colour left.

  “Gyric,” he began, in a voice raw with anger. “In the morning we will come and pledge your revenge.”

  Gyric reached out with his right hand to Godwin, and Godwin stepped forward and took it, and Gyric pressed the entwined hands to his own breast, and in this way showed his assent.

  And no man at that table did aught but grimly nod their heads, and stamp their feet upon the stone floor to show they wanted blood; none save Godwulf and the priest. Godwulf howled as if he would with his bare teeth destroy the man who had maimed his son; and the priest was mouthing prayers over and over as if they might deliver all of us.

  The hall rang with this noise, for it was near empty save for the men who stood clustered by the door, waiting. Gyric and Godwin let drop their
hands, and Godwin stood before his father and drew a long breath. Godwulf nodded to his elder son, and I saw all the eyes of the thegns upon Godwin. Godwin motioned with his hand, and the thegns got up as one man and followed him across the stone floor and out of the hall. The young priest too rose, and went away, and the strange man upon the stool slipped off as well; and Gyric and I were alone in the vast hall with Godwulf.

  Chapter the Sixty-seventh: This Belongs to You

  I felt fear at that moment of this mighty Lord, and felt over bold as I looked at him; but look I must, for I needs must be Gyric’s eyes as well as my own. He sat in his great oak chair gazing on Gyric, and his pale blue eyes were again wet as he did so.

  He rose and left his great chair, and came and sat upon the bench next to his son. Gyric put his hand out, the one which Godwin had just taken in pledge, and asked in a soft voice, “Father?”

  And Godwulf took Gyric’s fine hand in his own scarred and callused one and said, “Yes, my boy.”

  I thought surely they would want to be alone. As I began to rise, Gyric stayed my hand from slipping from his.

  Now Godwulf spoke to his son, and each word was heavy and slow. “My boy, why did you come upon us as you did? The shock was great, to all of us.”

  “Forgive me father, I never meant to give you further hurt. We were stopped in the forest by one of your snaresmen, and then again by a ward-corn, but I ordered both to silence. I wanted to speak to you first, to come before you myself and tell you what had befallen me. Forgive me if I have done wrong.”

  Godwulf pondered this for a moment as he turned his son’s hand over in his own. “I understand. It was your tale to tell. A man must be the first to tell his own story.”

  Gyric nodded his head, and Godwulf turned his eyes from his son to me. I tried not to flinch under his gaze; but as I looked upon him I was most aware that he was powerful and rich and a renowned warrior.

  “And your story, Lady, is also one of wonder and amaze.”

  I mutely nodded my head, but could not smile, try as I might.

  “None of your kinsmen, father or uncle, live? All at the river Dee have passed from the Earth?”

  My throat tightened, for I saw he could not be pleased that his son had taken a woman such as me for his wife: I was from an unknown shire in another land, my father long-dead and of little importance, and I brought nothing to Gyric as far as lands or sheep or cattle.

  “My mother lives, my Lord. But she is not of the world,” I managed to say.

  “There is no relation to whom I could send a bride-price?”

  “A bride-price?”

  I could scarce believe it. He did not complain that I brought no riches with me; he thought instead to send treasure to my own folk.

  “You are an ealdorman’s daughter. I expect to pay well for you for my son, tho’ I can never match what you have brought me.”

  “I am only sorry that I bring so few goods into this hall,” I murmured.

  “None of that matters. You have brought my son alive to me again.”

  He touched the green mantle that Gyric wore and asked, “How came you by this fine mantle?”

  “My wife provided it, like all else.”

  “Well, rather the Lady Ælfwyn I served at Four Stones did,” I told him. “It was part of the clothing she gave for Gyric from the chest of the dead Lord of Four Stones. She was very generous in outfitting us,” I ended, wanting to give her far more credit than I could.

  “Ælfsige’s daughter,” muttered Godwulf, shaking his head. “It is a bad business.”

  He looked down at the seax that Gyric had strapped across his waist. “And this fine seax? Was this also from the trove of Four Stones?”

  “Yes,” answered Gyric, and pulled it out so that his father might examine it. “We think it was Merewala’s, and that one of the serving women hid it after his death. At least Ceridwen found it in a food bag, which had been packed for us by such a woman.”

  “You had true friends there,” nodded Godwulf, and held the hilt in his hand. “It is better than my own.”

  “Then I give it to you, father,” Gyric said at once.

  “No, no,” replied Godwulf, and guided Gyric’s hand to the hilt. “It shall remain yours. You have worn it these many weeks, and already drawn blood with it.”

  Wood creaked on wood, and Modwynn came through a door behind us. She left it open, and I heard a faint booming sound from outside. I whispered to Gyric, and he stood up. I too stood with him, and Modwynn’s face was full of love and sorrow and joy as she came up to Gyric. She clasped him to her, and then made him sit down again while she stood behind him, her hands upon his shoulders.

  “We have not enough time to kill an ox, but we shall have a milk-calf for our table tonight, and as many other good things as Kilton yields,” she told us, and her voice was low and mild and full of gentle pride.

  She stroked Gyric’s hair with her white hands, slender and beautiful like his own. She looked down at me and smiled. “What an ornament we have in you, daughter,” she said, and my whole heart went out to her, not for her praise, but for the kindness in her tone, and for the ready way she named me daughter. She turned to her husband and said, “It is a long time since we have had such a beauty at our table.”

  Godwulf looked at me and nodded, and then looked back to Modwynn. “A beauty sits by my side each night,” was his answer.

  She laughed, a sound wonderful to hear, for I knew it must have been many long weeks since any laughter had crossed her lips.

  Godwulf stood up now, and Gyric felt him move and rose too in respect.

  “I speak now to Godwin,” was what Godwulf said to us all. “Keep well until I see you.”

  He walked the length of the hall and went out the main door, and the group of fighting men who had been standing there the whole time parted and then followed him out.

  Modwynn took my hand, and gave it a little squeeze. She turned to Gyric.

  “Godwin has given you the bower-house, Gyric. I am having your things brought to it now. Would you like to go there and rest?”

  “The bower-house? Where will he and Edgyth sleep?”

  Modwynn’s voice was gentle. “Edgyth has gone home, Gyric. She has been gone for four months, since Candlemas.” She turned to me. “Are you weary, Ceridwen? Perhaps just to rest would be welcome.”

  “You are so kind, my Lady,” I told her.

  “Please to call me Modwynn,” she smiled.

  Gyric seemed lost in thought, and now said, “Yes, I would like to be quiet for a while. And Ceridwen wants to look at the sea. Let us go out into your garden, and from there to the bower-house.”

  Modwynn began to take his arm, but Gyric stopped and asked, “Can you have my spear brought to me? The one tied to my saddle?”

  “Of course,” answered Modwynn, and clapped her hands. When it was brought Gyric stepped forward, free from my hand and that of his mother.

  “I know the way well,” he told us in a low voice, and so we set off.

  We crossed the stone floor, moving slowly, and drew closer to the open door. The booming sound grew louder as we did.

  We stepped over a threshold and into a pleasure garden such as the singers of songs tell of, for it was hedged on one side by fruit trees, and screened by a fence to keep beasts away, and it had within all manner of blooming plants and vines, so that the air was thick with their perfume. At one end there was a kind of pavilion, with benches and a table, and vines growing up and around the sheltering walls. And behind the pavilion was a walkway of stone, built upon the very edge of the rock; for this was the utmost face of the cliff upon which the keep sat.

  Gyric reached out and took my hand and said to me, “Now you will see the waves crashing against the rocks,” and we walked, arm in arm to the pavilion, Modwynn at our side.

  And we went and stood there at the edge, and I looked a long way down at red and brown cliffs, raw and bare and full of b
eauty, and watched the green waters crash and swirl below; and the salt water was running from my eyes as I looked at this. Gyric held my hand and I knew he recalled all the hundreds of times he had stood there as boy and man looking out upon this beauty; and I knew he trembled for what he had lost.

  I made myself speak. “How beautiful it all is,” I told him, and kissed his cheek.

  I looked at Modwynn, and saw that she wept and turned away.

  The salt smell rose up and mixed with the scent of the roses in the garden, and some sea spray too was carried up to us by the wind and wet our faces. I looked long upon the churning waters of the sea, crashing and sucking and tossing its white mane against the rock below.

  Then we turned our backs on its call, and faced into the sweetness and safety of the pleasure garden, and walked amongst its trees to its end. There stood a round timber building, the door of which was open. We stepped inside, and I saw two serving men at work, pulling chests into place.

  The bower-house was not large, but it had many things of worth in it. Firstly, it too had an iron casement, set with many small pieces of glass, so that the light streamed into it. There was a firepit for warmth in Winter, and brackets on the white-painted walls which held oil lamps. There were three chairs and a good sized table, handsome and well-made, and many good wooden chests. Above all was a beautiful wooden bed, carved so that the bedposts that rose at the corners looked like the heads of dragons.

  “How wonderful this is,” I said.

  “I hope you will be happy here,” answered Modwynn. “There is more work to be done, but for now I will have some cakes and ale sent to you.”

  She gestured to the workmen to follow her, but I stopped her with my hand. I wanted very much to give her something rare and precious and worthy of her great kindness.

  “Please, Modwynn, are my packs from my mare here?”

  “Here in the blue chest,” she said, and went and lifted the cover for me.