I heard Godwulf speak. He was questioning Godwin about the movement of some Danes, names I did not know. I did not listen well, for my eyes now cast over the other smaller bags that lay before Gyric. I saw a sword hilt, the blade broken off short, and the hilt embellished with silver and copper wire. There were more bracelets of silver, some just the plain ropes of metal the Danes favoured, others finely wrought; there were a few arm-rings, and also some finger rings.
Then in one pack I saw a talisman I knew, and a cry came to my lips. There lay the silver hammer of Thor that Yrling wore each night and day about his neck. The shining silver chain was broken, but the amulet itself lay perfect in its brilliance upon the dull leather.
I cried out as I saw it, and my fingers went to it, but I could not touch it. Godwin had been speaking, and now he stopped, and looked at me.
“It is the Dane Yrling’s,” he told me, and his voice was flat. He seemed to recall something, and said to Godwulf, “Ælfsige is dead. That is how I caught Yrling. The Dane Healfdene attacked Cirenceaster, and it was a lure too strong for Yrling to resist. He came, and fought against Healfdene, and that is how I took him.”
He looked back at the thegns who shadowed him, and said, “It was there I lost Eadweard and Leofwine.”
Godwulf considered this news a moment, and then asked, “And do you know the Fate of Cirenceaster?”
“No, my Lord, I do not,” answered Godwin. “We were few men against many, and Ælfsige was no true friend to Æthelred or Ælfred. I was there by good chance, for after I had done with Hingvar I heard that Healfdene was moving against Ælfsige. I went only on the hope of catching Yrling there.”
Now the injured thegn shifted on his bench, and stifled a groan, and Godwin turned back to him and bent low over the man.
This was a spur to Godwulf, for he rose again. “The vow has been fulfilled. Vengeance has been won.”
No man answered this time; no man spoke. The fruits of the pledging laid before Gyric, and Godwulf looked down upon them. “There is good treasure here, Gyric, wrested from your bitter foes. Do you accept these proofs of vengeance?”
Gyric’s voice was steady and cold. “Yes.”
Godwin came forward and picked up his sword from the table, and took his brother’s hand and laid it upon the hilt. He spoke no word to him, but Gyric closed his other hand over that of Godwin, so that both wielded it.
Gyric let go the sword, and Godwin slid it back into his sheath. Gyric’s hands went down to the treasure, and he touched it. And I knew he had touched it before, for when his fingers met the hank of singed beard, they drew away.
“I give this treasure to the care of Dunnere the priest, to be melted down and sold to aid the poor of Kilton,” he said.
Dunnere rose and came swiftly to the table. His eye scanned the silver and gold there, and he dipped his head before Gyric. “My Lord, you shall be doubly blest in heaven,” he told him.
Dunnere began folding up the packs. Some sound must have escaped my lips, for Gyric turned his head slightly to me. I looked at him, and my eye fell again upon the hammer of Thor.
I touched Gyric’s hand, feeling all eyes in the hall upon me. “My Lord,” I stammered out, calling him thus for the first time. “Please to give me the silver amulet from Yrling.”
Dunnere’s dark eye flashed at me, and I said quickly, “I will pay its weight in silver coin to Dunnere, to relieve the poor.”
This did not matter to Gyric; the twist of his lips showed me this. He did not understand my desire for the piece, nor could anyone else in the hall.
There was no way but the truth. “It has meaning to me,” I explained. “Because of the Lady I served at Four Stones, Ælfwyn. Yrling put it around her neck the day they Hand-fasted. I was there. She...she had at one time some regard for him. I would like the amulet for her sake. I will send it to her.”
For one moment he was silent, and moved not. “Take the amulet,” he said quietly. “There is no need to replace it with your own silver. There is treasure enough here.”
I reached out and plucked the silver hammer from the table. The broken chain swung from my hand like running water. The amulet was cold and heavy in my grasp.
Men were moving now about the hall. Thegns set up tables, and serving men were coming in. Godwin went back to the injured thegn and sat down next to him. Godwulf came up to Gyric, and laid his arms around his son’s shoulders. Modwynn vanished into her chamber; I knew she must have gone for the Simples chest.
I saw Godwin rise, and begin to walk towards the main door. Holding the silver amulet in my hand, I stepped off the platform and hurried after him. He was almost to the door when he turned and saw me.
No one was near us. I knew many folk waited outside the door, including the widows of the dead. Perhaps he went now to speak to them. But something within me would delay him in even this pitiful task.
He turned and looked at me, and I felt his weariness was so great that only by force of will he stood before me. But his eyes told me it was not only weariness of body, and the hurt from his injured arm that afflicted him; but rather some sickness of the soul.
Now that I was so close to him, I did not know how I could trouble him with my question. Still, the words rose to my lips, and I spoke. “Godwin, the nephew of Yrling - the tall one with the scar - did you kill him?”
His eyes searched my face, and scorched me with their gaze. “Why are you crying?” he demanded.
“Because...because he is a friend to me.”
“Well, he is an enemy to me, and to Gyric, and to Godwulf, and to all else here at Kilton.”
He turned his back upon me and started moving away.
I reached out my hand but could not touch him. “Please, Godwin. Only tell me. Did you kill him? The tall one, with the scar?”
He turned, and his words were harsh. “No. I did not kill him, tho’ he tried to kill us. Once I had killed Yrling, and snapped the chain from his throat, I called to my men to flee. I only wanted Yrling’s life, and I had taken it. There were a handful of us, and many of them, and they were fighting also Healfdene’s men. A few of them gave chase, led by the tall one. It was he who has crippled Wulfstan.”
He stood before me, his arm raised towards the injured thegn.
“You are hurt yourself,” I said.
“It is nothing. I must go now.”
“Godwin, I am glad that you return; very glad.”
He did not answer this, but turned and pushed open the door to the yard.
I went to the front of the hall. The injured thegn was lying on his belly upon a table, and Modwynn was sitting by him, the Simples chest opened before her. She was cutting the bloodied bandage off when I came up to her.
“Godwin will be back soon, and you will wish to wash his wound,” I told her. “Please to let me care for Wulfstan.”
She looked up at me, and her wisdom was such that she read my face even with all else which was in her care. “Are you well, daughter? I can wash and dress Wulfstan’s wound.”
“No, no. I want to; truly I do.”
And she believed me, and rose, and I sat down by the injured Wulfstan and washed and dressed the wound that Sidroc had driven; and as I did I bit my lip to keep from weeping.
And Godwin was right, Wulfstan was crippled, for he never more could walk aright after this, but was always lame.
In the hall that night we drank to the thegns who had not returned, and I lifted my cup to them. But I could not drink to their glory without recalling the dead Yrling, nor could I have pity on the young wives of the thegns without weeping for Ælfwyn.
The scop took up his harp and sang the song he had made of Gyric and me, but now it was different, for it began and ended with Godwin, and the blood-vengeance he had won in the name of Godwulf. All listened long and hard to this song, and at its end Godwulf motioned to the scop to come forward, and the old ealdorman pulled off one of the silver arm rings that he wore, a massive piece of great worth,
and placed it into the scop’s hands for rich reward.
I did not stay long in the hall that night. I felt sick and sad and went for the first time alone to the bower-house. I had put away the silver amulet in a scrap of linen. Now I took it out and held it. I resolved to take the chain tomorrow to the silver-smith, and have him make it whole again. Looking at the broken ends made me think of the moment of Yrling’s death, and I would not send the amulet to Ælfwyn bearing such a message. I looked at the letter I had written for her and knew I must add to it some line of comfort, and felt I had none to give.
I undressed and laid in the dragon bed and waited for Gyric. I heard him come along the path, guided by a thegn, I thought, and then he stepped into the house, flushed from drink. I slipped out of bed and went to him and he caught me up in his arms and held me. I thought he trembled, but it may have been me who shivered. He had drunk much; all the men had that night, and I had left long ago; but his mood was not shaped by drink alone. Vengeance had been had, and Godwin had returned whole to tell of it himself. He had not been sacrificed in the winning of it; the people of Kilton would not be deprived of Godwin’s rule once Godwulf himself was gone to the Summerlands. A pledge had been made, oaths sworn; now they were fulfilled, and tho’ nothing could restore to Gyric what had been lost, payment had been exacted.
He kissed my lips, and lifted my hands and kissed them too, and pressed my hands to his face. “Ceridwen, do not be troubled by Godwin. He did not mean to be harsh to you on his return, when he sent you out of the hall.”
“I understand it, my love. Is he all right?”
He did not answer at first, and I saw by the set of his mouth and the furrow in his brow that it was Gyric himself who was troubled. No strong drink or scop’s song could soften the truth of how Godwin had won his vengeance. “Yes... It is just... he...”
“You do not have to tell me.”
“No; and I would not tell you. You do not want to hear. It is just that he... lost his head when he caught Hingvar. He did things that...”
Gyric shook his head, and went on. “He did nothing that I myself would not have done,” he ended, and his voice was defiant as he defended his brother.
I said nothing to this. I already had heard at the hall that Godwin had trailed Hingvar to his camp, and snatched him away from his fellows at night when Hingvar was deep in his cups. The Dane had suffered every torment as his punishment. Godwin had left no part of his body unmarked by fire or seax, and denied him even the mercy of a killing sword-thrust; the man had died slowly, and in agony. It was no more or less than he had promised at the pledging, and yet all must have expected that Godwin would have simply slayed Hingvar, as he did Yrling.
“He did what he swore to do,” I answered.
“Yes. Dunnere is praying for him.”
I almost wanted to laugh, but there was no mirth in me. My father Cerd and his brother Cedd had killed many men in war, and some too, I was certain, in blood-vengeance, but never, I thought, had they then asked forgiveness for the doing of it. Nor would Yrling or Sidroc or the hated Toki take a man’s life and then run to the place of Offering to be absolved. Christians, I had been taught, valued life more than heathens; but they were equally willing to slay. The difference was in their eager repentance.
“Is all well with you?” Gyric asked. He ran his hands down my bare skin. “Do not get chilled.”
“I am well, but only tired,” I answered, and climbed back into bed. He pulled off his clothes and soon lay next to me.
“You are troubled; I can feel it,” he told me.
I knew he was weary and full of ale and wished to sleep. I too wanted sleep, but felt that night that it would not come easily.
“I cannot stop thinking of Ælfwyn; that is part of it. I wonder if she has learnt of her father’s death. I worry for the Fate of her mother and sisters, and the Fate of all at Cirenceaster if it has truly fallen. And Yrling is dead. What shall she do now?”
He breathed out a slow breath. “I do not have those answers,” he sighed, and laid his hand on my heart. “I would that I did. Tell me what else.”
I took his hand and held it in both my own. “There is Godwin. Do you think Ælfwyn will learn who killed Yrling?”
He listened to this carefully, and considered well before he spoke. “If Yrling’s men were near to him when he was killed, then at least they will know why, if not who. Godwin would have called out my name as he delivered the death-blow.”
This caused me to be quiet some little time, thinking on it.
“What will happen to her? What will happen to all the folk at Four Stones?”
“Difficult to guess. We only know Yrling is dead. Perhaps Healfdene won Cirenceaster; or perhaps Healfdene’s men were defeated by Yrling’s men, or by some other group of Danes. Ælfsige’s thegns may even still hold Cirenceaster, tho’ it is not likely. Yrling’s men may have returned to Four Stones, or it may have been attacked by another Dane when word was spread that Yrling was killed.”
I buried my head in his shoulder. I wanted to shut all of this out of my heart and mind, but to do so would be to shut Ælfwyn out; and this I would never do.
“You must sleep now,” Gyric whispered, and I fell asleep holding fast to him.
I rose early, tho’; and while he was still abed went to the chantry-house and carried back more ink, and added this to the letter for Ælfwyn:
Beloved Lady, this sad talisman once adorned your neck, and that of your husband. I send it to you with tears.
Then I sewed a simple sack of white linen to hold both parchment and amulet, and so made them ready to be taken away by the coming King; and my tears fell upon the linen as I sewed it.
Chapter the Seventy-third: As We Expected It
I did not feel well the next day, nor the next. There was no one thing wrong with me; I did not feel strong and well and happy as I was used to. Gyric and Godwin were much together, for which I was grateful; for Gyric was always brightest when by his brother, and Godwin too recovered his strength and spirits. But looking at him I thought some one thing within him was changed forever, tho’ I could not tell you what it was.
One day Godwin came to me as I was changing the linen bandage around Wulfstan’s wound. He went to the thegn’s head and spoke to him, and made him laugh with some jest or other, for which I was glad. Then he came and looked over my shoulder as I worked. The gash was deep and very ugly, but it did not appear to fester despite the seeping blood and yellow fluid that soaked the wrap every few hours.
Godwin spoke, almost in my ear. “Wulfstan says you care well for him. You have my thanks as well as his.”
It was hard to accept thanks for this task; I felt bound by duty to care for the man. I felt too that Godwin understood why I had undertaken it.
I nodded my head, without turning to look at him. Then his hand reached out and for one moment encircled the gold bracelet which I wore as his gift. He held me thus for but an instant, and I still did not turn to look at him; but in that instant I felt all was well between us, and that no words could say more.
On the third day after Godwin’s return a message came from Ælfred, and it was brought by two riders. They said that Ælfred himself would come to Kilton in a fortnight, and begged that things might be ready to receive him and his companions.
This news itself was cause for rejoicing, and cause also for much work and planning, for Ælfred would come to Kilton with at least sixty thegns, all of which would need housing and food and drink for the stay. And tho’ Ælfred had spent much of his youth at Kilton, and was like unto a brother to Gyric and Godwin, he was now King, and needs must be received in especial state and comfort.
I helped as much as I could with the provisioning. Modwynn learnt that I was good with numbers, and set me to counting all the casks of ale, and to numbering every bronze cup, and to planning how much mead should be poured out each night.
On the third or fourth morning after this news I went
out with Modwynn into the kitchen yard. A woman there was stirring an iron cauldron of browis, and the sharp savour of it rose to my head.
Of a sudden I felt green, and began to retch. A cook was with us, and she grabbed an empty basin and held it before me, and I lost the toasted loaf and ale I had eaten in the hall that morning. Modwynn held my shoulders and handed me a cloth to wipe my mouth. My face was hot with shame, and with, I thought, the sickness I must be coming down with. Now the cook lifted a cup of weak ale to me, but as I smelt it, I thought I should retch again, and waved it away.
“Bring water,” ordered Modwynn.
I drank a bit of it, and said, “I am so sorry to retch in the kitchen yard. I do not know what happened. I have not been well, these past days. I think I am only tired.”
Modwynn squeezed my shoulders and smiled. “Yes, I think you should rest. Let me walk with you to the bower-house.”
She nodded to the cook that all was well, and then we went, the two of us, through the hall. It was a damp day, and Gyric and Godwin and Godwulf sat together by the fire. Godwin looked up at us as we walked by.
Modwynn and I went through the pleasure garden, and as we walked she noted, “All the roses are gone. But they will return next year.”
She pushed open the door of the bower-house, and I went to the dragon bed and sat down upon it. I felt better just being away from the kitchen yard and its smells.
She sat down next to me, and placed her hand upon my brow.
“I do not think I have fever,” I told her.
She laughed, very gently. “No, you do not have fever.” She leaned forward and looked into my eyes. “How long has it been, Ceridwen, since you had your Moonflow?”
“I am waiting for it now. It is late, very late, but I do not always bleed right after the full Moon.”
“You mean when you were a maid you did not always.”
“Yes,” I blushed. “That is all I can measure, because I have not bled since Gyric has been my husband.”
“And that was since... the middle of May?”
The Circle of Ceridwen: Book One of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga Page 56