Mistletoe Kisses and Yuletide Joy

by Jo Beverley

  Hera braced to give up the Star, thinking that Magnus was as crafty as an entertainer making his audience believe in magical spells. But then she saw Raef looking at her and hesitating. She realized she was still clutching the Star, and hastily let it go, giving a little shake of her head. The man couldn't be stupid enough to pass up this chance!

  He turned to the hall. "How can a man give up a precious item once touched by Christ's own hand?"

  Raef! Hera braced to run out and knock some sense into the man.

  "And yet," he added, with a believable effect of reluctance, "my family's honor gives me no choice. I can only hope that the fact that it has briefly rested in the possession of the woman who is to be my wife will grant me blessings."

  He turned to Hera and held out his hand for the jewel. "Do I assume too much?"

  He was giving her the choice even now. With a relieved out breath, she took it off. "Of course not."

  He put it around Alfrida's neck. "You understand," he said, turning to Magnus, "this means you must marry her."

  "I'd not let her escape me!" The Dane seized Alfrida's hand and pulled her around the table to face the hall. "Hear ye! This is Alfrida of Froxton, now my wife, till death us part. My helpmeet, my mate, and my magical power!"

  His men cheered, not seeming at all put out at the loss of Acklingham. Probably they, like their leader, had been wondering what to do with a place that kept them landlocked, and required all kinds of care they'd no mind to give.

  "Do you all now pledge to honor and protect this woman, now my wife. On your oaths."

  "Aye!" The great shout seemed to shake the hall.

  Alfrida was glowing with happiness, but she looked up at him and said saucily, "It would have been nice to be asked."

  "Do you forget you're my prisoner, woman?"

  "Oh no, my lord," she said, wickedly demure. "Never."

  The laughter told that all his men knew the true way of things.

  "And I," said Alfrida to the hall, "am proud to call Magnus Gormsson, called the Ravenbringer, husband. He will have my honor and my care all my life. And whatever blessings the good Christ chooses to bring him through this magical pendant."

  And now she went around the hall to show it off again, and to let people touch it, Magnus escorting her with glowing pride.

  Raef walked around the table, and with a distinct sigh of satisfaction, took his rightful place in one of the great chairs, next to Hera.

  "Do you mind?" he asked her.

  She took his hand. "Not at all. If there was magic in it for me, I have it. I have you."

  He wound his fingers in hers, but his eyes were on Alfrida and Magnus. "What happens when one day it falls from her neck into the sea?"

  "God will protect her."

  "The Star of the Magi." He suddenly leaned back. "We live in extraordinary times."

  "But now, even if the world ends, I will be happy. Almost."

  He rolled his head to look at her, smiling. "I know. Doubtless Magnus is using the lord's room here, but I'll gladly fight him for it."

  It was tempting as a hot honey bun, but at the same time it didn't feel quite right. "If we wait till Christmas Eve, we could marry in a true Christian way. And I could celebrate it, for Advent would be over."

  He nodded. "That feels right. Truth to tell, everything is too raw for me just yet."

  She knew what really troubled him still. "You mustn't blame yourself over Edith. She was as she was, and it was her fate."

  "But if I'd opened my eyes sooner and married you, she-"

  "She'd have married another. Clearly she didn't think of a life of chastity until too late. I'll not speak badly of her to you, but she always enjoyed her beauty and the attention it brought her."

  "Marriage didn't kill her."

  "But it didn't please her either."

  "Perhaps with another man...."

  "Raef, I'll admit I'm besotted by you, but it's still true that there can be few men on earth more willing to be kind and patient with a woman like Edith."

  He laughed. "Besotted. I don't deserve that."

  "Deserve it or not, it's your fate."

  "And I am besotted by you...." But then he straightened. "By the thorns, I've just realized I'm free of my vow." He thumped the table with his fist. "Ale! Food!"

  Hera laughed and watched dotingly as her famished beloved made up for missed meals.

  Chapter Ten

  Hera slept in solitary splendor in the Lord's chamber of Acklingham. Raef took the bachelors' room, and Magnus and Alfrida the maidens'. Judging from the noises Hera heard from there, the name was not at all appropriate.

  It kept her awake. Not just the noise, but the longings within herself. It was right, though, to wait. It was still Advent, when Christians should not wed, and she meant to keep her Advent vows of fasting and abstinence from meat. She knew, too, that Raef needed a little time to think about Edith and all that had happened there.

  She still worried a little that the thousand years might mean the end of the world, and that it might happen before she'd enjoyed full passion with Raef, but she'd been steered by holy hands thus far, and would trust them in this too.

  Thy will be done.

  The next day, Raef agreed that Magnus and his men could stay at Acklingham as guests until Christmas Day so that Alfrida could attend her sister's wedding. Raef's men were divided between Acklingham and Froxton until one of Hera's brothers returned to take things in hand.

  They planned for the future, but still, every now and then, couldn't help looking at the sky and wondering. It was a time of miracles, after all.

  "I wish we could go and see Father," Hera said at one moment. "Perhaps he still lives, and it doesn't seem right to marry without his blessing."

  Raef said, "Why not?"

  Hera went to ask Alfrida if she wanted to come.

  Alfrida nibbled the end of her plait. "Will they be angry? About Magnus?"

  "They'll be angrier not to see you. And hurt. Will Magnus let you come?"

  "Of course," said Alfrida, and to Hera's surprise was proved right.

  The Dane came to see them off. "I'd come myself to pay respects to my wife's father, but a Dane abroad in the land might stir trouble." He stretched up, and Alfrida curved down from her horse's back for a kiss.

  "Tell them," Magnus said to Raef, "that I'll care for their daughter all my days, and arrange for her to visit her home as often as possible."

  "Hopefully," Raef said, "not with a raiding party at your back."

  Magnus laughed. "I note you leave me here, trustingly."

  "Am I wrong?"

  "No. But perhaps one day you English will accept my king, and we can all be brothers."

  "Never," stated Raef, but without heat. As Hera had predicted, the two men were well on the way to being friends of sorts.

  They rode hard and reached the priory close to noon to hear the glad news that their father still lived. "Weak," said the monk who led them to the infirmary, "and it's a miracle he still lives, but perhaps he waited to say farewell to his daughters. Or perhaps," he added, opening the door, "he awaits the glorious coming of Christ."

  Their mother was sitting by the bed, looking worn down by weeks of hard nursing, but she rose with a pleased cry and gathered her daughters into her arms. Hera hugged her and then turned to where her father lay withered, pale, and obviously in pain.

  "I've prayed for his release," Lady Elswyth whispered into her ear, "but he lingers on."

  Hera went to kneel by her father's bed, Alfrida beside her. He opened weary eyes. "Ah, my daughters. A blessing to see you before I die." Even his bushy, grizzled beard was gray and thin.

  Hera took his hand. "Perhaps you're supposed to live, Father."

  "No, no," he said in a wispy voice. "But perhaps I'm to wait until Christ's coming. It's the only explanation. And the pain is doubtless suffering for my sins, and will save me from purgatory." He'd always been such a big, hearty man, but there was only half of him here.
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  "You were never a sinner, Father," Alfrida said, rising to kiss his sunken cheek.

  His mouth twitched in a feeble smile, but then his eyes fixed on the pendant swinging in front of him. "What's this?" His hand fumbled to touch it. "Where did you get this?"

  Hera told the story, which was fine until she arrived at the part about Alfrida being in Acklingham with the Danes, and events from there on.

  Her father's frown was fierce enough to remind her of his earlier days, and her mother had her hand over her mouth.

  "You went to a Dane," he asked Alfrida, and if he'd been stronger, it would have been a bellow.

  "He's a good man, Father."

  He looked beyond, to Raef. "You permitted this?"

  Raef shrugged. "Hera wouldn't let me keep her under lock and key."

  Now Hera was pinned by eyes that almost seemed as sharp as of old. "We couldn't keep her locked up forever, Father."

  "I'd have chained her to the wall till she turned gray." To everyone's astonishment, he sat upright, scowling. "I'll certainly have no more of this."

  Hera and Alfrida both moved back hastily, but Lady Elswyth ran forward to ease him down. "Don't distress yourself, love. Lie back."

  "Lie back!" he bellowed, and though raspy, it was a bellow now. "You've been praying for me to die. I've heard you. So stop coddling me now!"

  "Only because of your pain, my love. Your pain..."

  Lady Elswyth stared at her husband, who was even beginning to get some color in his face. "Sweet Mary, Mother of Christ, it's a miracle!"

  Hera crossed herself, but her father scowled. "Don't talk nonsense. I'm just feeling a bit better. In fact, I'm hungry."

  Hera fell to her knees again because they'd turned weak.

  The Star. He'd touched the Star!

  "Father," she said, "it is a miracle. When we came in here you looked next to death, and now.... It happened when you touched the Star of the Magi."

  He scowled at the pendant as if reluctant to believe.

  "Are you not free of pain now?" she risked.

  After a moment, his frown eased. "I am indeed. A miracle? Here?"

  "I think so. And I'm sure it was Christ's Mother herself who told me to take the Star to Alfrida, and who has guided me throughout this. So it must be the will of Christ that Alfrida marry Magnus Gormsson. Perhaps in the future they can bring peace to our people."

  Her father let her ease him back onto his pillows, huffing out a breath. "A daughter of mine and a Dane. And what of you, Hera? Why aren't you in your convent?"

  "With your blessing, Father, I'm going to marry Raef."

  He nodded. "At least one of you will do the right thing. So who's taking care of Froxton? It must be falling into ruin. Get me some food. I can't lie here like a weakling forever!"

  Monks ran in to see what the shouting was about and fell to their knees in wonder at the miracle. By silent accord no one told them about the pendant. Then there would be talk of shrines and pilgrimage, and probably a war over whether it should go with the Danes.

  Once her father was sitting up supported by pillows, and taking his first food in days, Hera went into Raef's arms.

  "Perhaps this is Christ's coming," she said. "His clear presence among us through the Star."

  "Perhaps. Certainly my world has changed in the past days." He hugged her tight "And now, my wolf, we marry."

  A priest was summoned and they said their vows before Hera's parents in joy and wonder.

  That night, at Acklingham, as close to midnight as anyone could tell, they repeated their as Alfrida married Magnus outside, in the crisp clear air before English and Dane. The Christmas star shone bright in the frosty night, but as all watched no brighter light split the sky to herald the coming of the end. Christ only came, as he did every year, in the memory of a baby in a stable, and a promise of peace on earth.

  Raef claimed Acklingham's big bedchamber as his own, and his wolf as bride.

  "That was very good," Hera said later, sprawled in sweaty contentment amid tangled linen and furs.

  Raef turned her face to his. "Truly? It must have hurt."

  Even through the dazzling pleasure, she'd known he was tense, afraid of another Edith. She thumped his shoulder. "It hurt. It was nothing. If you get kicked in glima does it make it less fun?"

  Grinning, he said, "Glima? You want to wrestle?"

  "No. I want to cuddle." Tangling herself with him, she kissed his muscled chest.

  "Perhaps the world has come to an end."

  "Why?"

  "Because this is how I imagine heaven."

  ###

  When the spring came, Magnus Gormsson, called the Ravenbringer, carried his wife in his great sea-stallion across the waves to Denmark, to show his family the prizes he had won, including the miraculous pendant touched by the hand of the White Christ.

  But on the way back—on their way north to Dane-held lands, for Magnus would not raid Kent again—a storm arose and all were in fear of their lives.

  Then Alfrida took off the Star of the Magi, which now hung on a gold chain of great worth. "It is time," she said to her husband, whose first child swelled large inside her.

  For a moment he glowered, but then he nodded. "It's time. It never serves to be greedy with the gods."

  So Alfrida took the chain and whirled it fast around her head in the storm winds, and cast it as far as she could. It flew like a shooting star and then sank, deep into the iron black waters.

  And as it sank, the storm lessened, so that soon the sea was in order and the ship sailed on it way, while below, the Star waited until it was needed again.

  The End

  CHRISTMAS IN THE REGENCY

  A short essay.

  The nature of Christmas during the English regency (1811-1820) is surprisingly difficult to uncover -- which might be the clearest sign that it was not made as much of as we expect. Jane Austen hardly mentions it in her frequent letters. In one letter written to her beloved sister Cassandra on December 24th and 25th, she does wish her a "merry Christmas" but does not seem to be bothered by being apart at that time, or make mention of particular festivities. She is invited to dine at a nearby house but does not plan to go because the weather is bad. The weather clears, so she goes after all.

  In chapter 14 of Austen's Persuasion we are given a picture of one family's Christmas, the main feature of which seems to be the return of schoolboys for the holidays.

  "Immediately surrounding Mrs. Musgrave were the little Harvilles, whom she was sedulously guarding from the tyranny of the two children from the Cottage, expressly arrived to amuse them. On one side was a table occupied by some chattering girls, cutting up silk and gold paper; and on the other were trestles and trays, bending under the weight of brawn and cold pies, where riotous boys were holding high revel; the whole completed by a roaring Christmas fire, which seemed determined to be heard in spite of the noise of the others."

  This is seen as too noisy by the heroine and her friend Lady Russell, who remarks, "I hope I shall remember in future not to call at Uppercross in the Christmas holiday."

  Washington Irving, in his Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. also records the return home of the schoolboys as a major feature of Christmas at this time. However, this was published in 1820 and can be seen as part of a widespread movement to revive traditional Christmas celebrations, which is evidence in itself of the tepid nature of Christmas observance during the Regency. His description of Squire Bracebridge's old fashioned Christmas is placed in pointed contrast to the norm.

  Frank Bracebridge invites the traveler to spend Christmas at his family home, but says, "My father, you must know, is a bigoted devotee of the old school, and prides himself upon keeping up something of old English hospitality.... He is a strenuous advocate for the revival of the old rural games and holiday observances..."

  Later in the book, we get:

  "As we approached the house, we heard the sound of music, and now and then a burst of laughter from one end
of the building. This, Bracebridge said, must proceed from the servants' hall, where a great deal of revelry was permitted, and even encouraged, by the Squire throughout the twelve days of Christmas, provided everything was done conformably to ancient usage. Here were kept up the old games of hoodman blind, shoe the wild mare, hot cockles, steal the white loaf, bob apple and snapdragon: the Yule log and Christmas candle were regularly burnt, and the mistletoe, with its white berries, hung up to the imminent peril of all the pretty housemaids."

  This is a good summary of the old traditions, dating back to the middle ages, but mostly lapsed in the early nineteenth century. You can read the rest of the piece to see what Irving thought delightful, but what was clearly also not the norm on line here. ftp://sunsite.unc.edu/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext99/oxmas10.txt)

  One of the chief proponents of the Christmas revival was Leigh Hunt, the poet, critic, and journalist. (1784-1859)

  Leigh Hunt was what we would call today a left wing political activist, (he spent two years in jail) so his support of a nostalgic Christmas might seem strange, but in fact this movement had a lot to do with reaching back for a more stable and generous world. This grew because of the suffering and upheaval of the post-Waterloo era. Leigh Hunt was owner and editor of a publication called The Examiner, and it was there he wrote articles, both political and sentimental.

  In response to one about Christmas, a lady wrote a letter to the Examiner.

  "I feel unwilling to intrude upon your valuable time, yet I cannot refrain from thanking you for your cheering attempts to enforce a due observance of this delightful season." She goes on to thank them on her own behalf; on behalf of boys released from school for Christmas holidays; and on behalf of the poor who need charity. "I have, under this feeling, been for some days past busily employed in preparing for passing Christmas worthily. My beef and mincemeat are ready, (of which, with some warm garments, my poor neighbors will partake,) and my holly and mistletoe gathered; for I heartily approve of your article, and am of the opinion that to the false refinement of modern times may be traced the loss of that primitive and pure simplicity which characterized "other times." A wife, a mother, and an Englishwoman. December 21st 1818