by Anya Seton
"Indeed?" said Edgar, his eyes sparkling. "Tell me about her, my lord of Canterbury!"
Dunstan inclined his head. "I will, unless the Atheling wishes to?" He gestured towards Rumon who drew back, and showed his discomfort so blatantly that the King began to laugh.
"On the contrary, I beHeve," said Dunstan smiling. "Lord Rumon has but done his Christian duty in conducting her here. Her tale is this ..."
Whereupon Rumon perforce listened to an account of Mere-wyn's life which was remarkably accurate except for the central premise which alone ensured her ceremonious reception. The King was interested. He best loved tales of battle and adventure, yet he enjoyed novelty, and in Dunstan's skillful telling the pathos of Merewyn's situation became vivid. And Edgar had a particular fondness for the legends of King Arthur whom he sometimes fancied he resembled. At his palace in Winchester he kept several bards, and the Welsh one knew many songs about Arthur, who had fought so bravely for his country against the Saxon invaders, five hundred years ago. That those Saxon invaders were also Edgar's own ancestors no longer seemed important.
The Saxons had adopted Arthur as one of their heroes; after so long a time the conquerors felt no animosity towards the old Celtic stock; nor had need to.
"Where is the maiden?" Edgar cried as his Archbishop finished. "She shall be cared for at once by the Lady Alfrida. Summon the Queen!" he said to a servant.
Merewyn, blushing hot, walked timidly down the Hall, and imitating Rumon, fell to her knees before the King. He seized her gently by the chin, and raising her face, examined it with a connoisseur's eye. Pretty lass, he thought. Unusual appearance. A rosy skin unfortunately marred by some freckles across a blunt little nose. What he could see of the downcast eyes was good. They were large and light, and of a color between green
and blue. The lashes and brows were dark, but the hair — very-abundant to judge by the thickness of her plaits — was of a hue the King had never seen before. Almost dark red, rather like the color of the great garnet which decorated his mantle brooch. Figure seemed undeveloped — one couldn't be sure what lay under the hideous homespun shift and cloak. Once I would have tried to find out, Edgar thought, then he glanced guiltily at Dunstan, who stood watching.
"Rise, Lady Merewyn," said the King. "I have heard your unhappy story, and bid you heartily welcome to my Court. We will befriend you, and treat you with the honor due to the last of King Arthur's line."
Merewyn blushed harder, she understood the gist of what the King had said, stammered "Thank you, sir" in English, and could not forbear darting at Rumon a look of puzzled triumph. He had told her that nobody in England would care about King Arthur, had forbidden her to mention her lineage, and yet he must have done so himself. How strange.
Rumon's face showed a mixture of annoyance and resignation. Yet there was a slight smile on his lips. He gave a shrug, raising his hands and letting them fall again — a foreign gesture, of which he had several.
There came a rustling at the door behind the. dais; everyone turned and then stood up, except the King, who said tenderly, "Ah, here you are, my love!"
Alfrida walked towards them with a graceful glide, her tall slender body seeming to undulate. xMerewyn gasped; Rumon also drew in his breath and held it, while he stared.
Nobody upon first beholding Alfrida ever questioned her flawless beauty, possibly because she never questioned it herself, and worshiped it for the power it gave her. She was twenty-eight and enchanting. Her wavy hair — the exact shade of buttercups — fell loose to her knees. Her eyes were aolet, so was her silk gown, its bodice cut low enough to expose her round provocative breasts down to the pink nipples. A gauzy white
veil framed her face, softening a determined clefted chin. In repose her full moist mouth, reddened by cochineal paste, had a slightly protruding lower lip, which disclosed the lower row of small perfect teeth. A seductive, and at times sulky mouth, one that many a man had ached to kiss, while some had succeeded. High cheekbones and a short straight nose completed a face whose proportions were exquisite.
Her skin, constantly tended with rosewater and unguents, was hke creamy velvet. On her head, anchoring the gauzy veil, she wore a little golden circlet Hke the king's. She exuded waves of a flowery oriental perfume, which the King had had exported for her from the Levant.
Merewyn and Rumon were at one in their awed admiration. The King stared up at Alfrida with doting pleasure. The noblemen, one her brother, Ordulf — and the other, Alf here, who had long desired her, paid her the momentary tribute of silence, before returning to their chess game. Alfrida seated herself beside the King, gave Rumon and Merewyn each a brilliant smile, then placing her hand over Edgar's, said in a soft voice that she was eager to hear about the newcomers. Edgar kissed her hand and started eagerly on the narration. Rumon and Merewyn sat speechless, gazing at the Queen.
Dunstan, alone, was unmoved. He stood apart leaning on his crozier, waiting for the King to finish. He had long ago observed that those violet eyes were deepset, not large, that they could narrow with a hard purpose; that the underlip could jut out further if the Queen were vexed, and that sudden temper could contort the lovely face. He alone always noticed her hands. White and rosy-palmed, they were nevertheless square, powerful, with blunt spatulate fingers which sometimes flexed in a grasping motion.
Dunstan distrusted the Queen, though he liked most women, and Alfrida had always accorded him punctilious courtesy. He had perforce accepted the hold she had on the King, he had even persuaded himself that Edgar's passion for her was beneficial
since it prevented the lustful crimes Edgar had once committed.
For the other crime which had made her Edgar's consort — the murder of her husband in Wheru^ell forest — Dunstan had exacted a long severe penance. Though there had been extenuations.
Nine years ago the King, being in search of a wife, had heard men praise the beauty of a Devonshire girl, the daughter of Earl Ordgar. Edgar was then engaged on one of his numerous journeys throughout his realm, enforcing the laws in person, visiting the new abbeys he had founded, cementing many a loyalty by his personal interest. He therefore sent his close friend and confidant Earl Athelwold of East Anglia, on a mission here to Lydford, so that the Earl might report on Alfrida's looks and behavior.
Athelwold's report was damning. He described the girl as skinny, gangUng, pockmarked, loud-voiced, ill-mannered, and altogether unfit to be enthroned. Edgar accepted his friend's verdict, and married the plump pretty daughter of another Earl — little Eneda, the "White Duck." It was not long, however, before Edgar heard that Athelwold had most astonishingly married Alfrida himself — moreover, the Earl disappeared from Court on some lame excuse. Edgar scented betrayal and set off to visit Athelwold, who was terrified by the news of his King's arrival, and implored Alfrida to make herself ugly, to wear a tiring-woman's shapeless gown, to cover her face, giving as reason that it was disfigured by a rash. Alfrida, of course, did nothing of the sort. She used every art and bedazzled the King like a sunburst. In addition she sealed her husband's doom by pathetic complaints of him, of his meannesses and cruelties. When he left her Edgar was aolently in love, and as violently determined to revenge himself upon the man he had trusted.
Even so, Edgar had not committed base murder. On that hunting expedition in WTierwell forest, though Edgar gave no previous warning of his plan, he had not thrown the javehn at the Earl's back. He had given Athelwold a moment to under-
Stand what was coming before hurling his spear into the left breast, and the King himself had said prayers for the dying, and made the sign of the cross over his erstwhile friend. Then he had made full confession to Dunstan.
The Archbishop sighed as he thought of the next tragedy caused by the King's passion to possess this woman who was even now smiling gently and casting unfathomable looks at Rumon while she listened to Edgar's explanation of his arrival with Merewyn.
Though Athelwold was dead, there was another impediment — Eneda. So Edgar deci
ded to repudiate his wife, who had begun to bore him even before he saw Alfrida. Legally it was a simple matter to get rid of Eneda; the King had only to assert the sudden discovery of consanguinity within the prohibited relations, shut her up in a nunnery and announce that the marriage was dissolved. This procedure even Dunstan could not stop; it had been the manner of kings since the beginning of time. Nor could he delay but for a while the King's marriage to Alfrida. The uncanonical rite was finally performed by the lax Bishop of Ramsbury after Alfrida had used the age-old stratagem and got herself pregnant by the King. That child of shame, little Edmund, was never healthy and presently died, leaving his brother, Ethelred, to occupy Alfrida's whole attention.
Dunstan had not been able to prevent the marriage, but he refused to recognize it or give it blessing.
Thirteen years ago Edgar had been properly elected king by the Witenagemot — the Council of Wise Men who helped rule England. He was therefore King in the eyes of men, but not — Dunstan held — in the eyes of God, nor could be until the rehgious rites had been fulfilled. The sacred church rites of anointing and investiture, the laying on of hands, the consecration like a priest, the mystical union which alone could guarantee his royal recognition in heaven too.
Dunstan would not perform this ceremony until the King's crimes had been expiated by years of penance, and by the found-
ing of many Benedictine abbeys to the glory of God. Nor would he perform the ceremony while Edgar was living in mortal sin with a woman who was not his true wife. The King, goaded by Alfrida, had protested often during these years, he had growTi angry, but he was deeply devout, and afraid of hellfire. Moreover, Dunstan's stand was backed by the other two prelates who labored for England's much-needed rehgious reforms; Oswald, the kindly Danish Archbishop of York, and Ethelwold — the harsh, dogmatic Bishop of Winchester.
Well, the situation was resolved now. Eneda was dead. She had died last winter in the royal nunnery at Wilton. Piteous, silly, fluttering creature; her wits gradually grew addled as time passed. She wept incessantly, she alternated between bursts of outrageous gluttony and dangerous fasts. Her death resulted from the former phase. She had somehow escaped the abbey cellaress and broaching a vat of fermenting mead, had consumed a quarter of it. They said her belly burst. Anyway she died.
Alfrida did not conceal her pleasure at this news, and though slander whispered that she had somehow encompassed the death of the despised hindrance herself, Dunstan thought that to be untrue. Unless by black magic — ill-wishing and incantations. Those things were possible. Love potions were possible too; it was hard to explain Edgar's unabating passion, and yet — thought the Archbishop with a shudder — there was the mighty thralldom of the bed — of lechery. And this was a woman who obviously excelled in lewd arts. Though to do her justice, nobody had even whispered that she practiced her arts with anyone but Edgar. Nor was she irrehgious, thought Dunstan, chiding himself for lack of charity. She attended Mass regularly. She kept the fasts. She founded nunneries.
And now the Lord had seen fit to reward her great ambition. Her marriage recognized, she would be crowned at Bath on Whitsunday with Edgar. She would be a legitimate Queen. She could surely find no higher goal for her designs — unless —
Dunstan thought with sudden foreboding — she now exerted herself to forward Ethelred, her miserable eight-year-old son, at the expense of poor Eneda's Edward, the first true-born athehng.
Dunstan never thought of little Ethelred without repugnance. At Ethelred's christening, when Dunstan lowered him into the font, the baby's backside exploded into farts and feces, thus loathsomely defiling the Holy Water. A bad beginning. And there were other nastinesses. It had been reported to Dunstan that the child was still often incontinent, and had been caught at the sin of Onan. Moreover, he was a coward, afraid of snakes, storms and hunting; forever lying himself out of punishment for his frequent faults.
Edward, on the other hand, was a manly little lad; short like his parents, yet good at sports, honorable, brave — and already something of a scholar, so his tutor, the Bishop of Creditor, reported. Edward could be fashioned into an excellent king — as his father had been fashioned — with God's help.
The Archbishop glanced fondly and proudly at Edgar, who had finished his narration and was now talking to Rumon.
Alfrida arose. She turned gracefully to iMerewyn, holding out her hand. "Come with me, my dear. One of my ladies is attacked by rheumatism and completely useless. I should think you could replace her."
iMerewyn smiled nervously, she did not quite understand. She glanced towards Rumon for help, but his dark eyes were fixed on the Queen. "I — I — if you please?" said Merewyn, groping.
Alfrida gave her sweet tinkling laugh. "You'll soon learn," she said, and settled Merewyn's uncertainly by grabbing the girl's wrist in a firm grasp. They went out together to the Ladies' Bower.
After a week at Lydford the Court was preparing for its march towards Bath. And Merewyn had learned a great deal. She learned that though the Queen had six ladies around her, and innumerable serving maids, there was always a great deal to do
for the pleasuring of Alfrida. Each lady had a special talent. Wulfsiga of Kent could sing and strum on the harp, and the Queen often demanded her services. Hilde came from York and was the dark-haired Danish wife of Thored, a great fighter and preeminent northern thane. Hilde was a quiet, middle-aged woman who commanded respect even from the Queen. She was expert at embroidery, and Alfrida kept her busy mending and decorating the royal gowns.
The Lady Albina was Ordulf's wife, and therefore the Queen's sister-in-law, and exempt from much duty since she was heavy with pregnancy; but the Queen often desired her to play chess or backgammon with her. Britta, Earl Alfhere's daughter, was a thin ugly girl who had the dual tasks of tending Alfrida's elaborate wardrobe and of caring for her white Persian cat — Frez. Alfrida was fond of her cat, and constantly sent Britta to the kitchens for dainties to tempt its capricious appetite. Elfled, a wispy little thing, was the youngest and exactly of Merewyn's age — fourteen. Perhaps it was this which made Merewyn feel an immediate sympathy for her, added to the quick recognition that Elfled was very unhappy. The Queen gave her tasks which should have been done by the servants. Elfled would be peremptorily commanded to empty chamber pots, to wash soiled linen, to clean up the vomit made by Britta, who had a squeamish stomach. Elfled was the Queen's stepdaughter, child of the murdered Athelwold whom she greatly resembled. Her selection as Queen's lady had been Dunstan's doing — which Alfrida resented. She hadn't liked the girl's father and she certainly did not like this constant reminder of him.
Elfled was Merewyn's bedmate, and the latter heard the frequent sound of stifled weeping beside her. The Queen's ladies slept on bench beds in the Bower, two in each. The Queen, of course, returned to her husband's bed at night, and so did Lady Albina to Ordulf's. Merewyn inherited the space left by her rheumatic predecessor. She did not inherit the duties.
"I'm sure I don't know ivhat I'll do with you!" said Alfrida airily on the first day, after presenting Merewyn to her other ladies. "Descendant of some old British King," explained Alfrida. "Niece to the Abbess Merwinna of Romsey. Destitute, poor thing. Britta, find her some gown of mine, and a mantle. I'll pick a brooch for her myself. She can't go about looking like this!"
Merewyn understood little of the questions the Queen asked her. Could she sew? Embroider? Sing? — Well, what could she do? Merewyn's English was not yet up to replying that she could tend pigs, chickens, cook a little, and weave. She could only shake her head and look frightened.
Alfrida laughed, thinking that she wouldn't be saddled long with this little dolt — only until Bath where the girl could be delivered to her aunt. Saddled with her she must be since Edgar had suggested it, and pleasing Edgar was of prime importance. Also there was Rumon who had brought the maiden here. Rumon had interested her immediately. A strange, dark young man, unlike anyone she had seen. That he had felt the impact of her beauty, she kne
w very well, and she was amused to find that Merewyn also felt it.
"Would you like to comb my hair?" she asked on the second night as she saw Merewyn staring with awe at the golden shining flood rippling down the Queen's back.
Merewyn silently obeyed. She already felt great gratitude to Alfrida for letting Britta bestow on her a yellow silk gown and a green velvet mantle from one of the chests in the Bower. Alfrida herself had inspected these gifts, tilting her head and considering what best became her new lady's peculiar coloring. The Queen entered into these decisions with gusto. She understood the enhancing of a woman, and she had no jealousies of this kind. She had capped her generosity with the gift of a small gilt and enamel brooch to hold the mantle on the shoulder. Merewyn choked with pride and excitement.
She combed Alfrida's gorgeous hair so gently, so skillfully that
by the next night the Queen decided that nobody else should do it. Moreover, after one trial she gave Merewyn a new duty. The massaging of the lovely white body with a lamb-fat and rosewater unguent.
"You do that well —" said Alfrida, when she at last gestured for Merewyn to cease rubbing. "Better than any lady I've had." She pulled the girl down and gave her a quick, careless kiss on the cheek.
Merewyn's heart swelled. Nobody but her mother had ever kissed her and then only in the long ago. Her famished affections settled themselves on the Queen, who was pleased. She knew very well that her other ladies did not accord her the same degree of uncritical worship, and she treated Merewyn with indulgence, even permitting hours off to visit Caw and Trig who had been relegated to quarters across the Lyd River. Merewyn did not enjoy these visits. Trig had picked up some ailment and would not eat. He greeted her only by feeble whimpers and a quiver of his tail. Caw was healthy enough — they had put him in a smithy, blowing the bellows and stoking the forge — but his Uttle black eyes were dull with bewildered homesickness. When he saw Merewyn he would grasp her hand and mumble in his thick gobbling way, "Tre-Uther? Tre-Uther?"