“The household is in mourning, of course, but we’re seeing to the funeral arrangements,” Oswin continued.
“Good, good,” Nothwulf said. “I am in no doubt you’ve looked into this matter? Tried to find out what mad plot drove Werheard to do what he did?”
“I have, lord. We visited Werheard’s home. But…ah…your man Bryning seemed to have got there before us.”
“Yes,” Nothwulf said. “That’s no surprise. I sent him. I’m as eager as any to find out what’s acting here. More so, most likely. Merewald was my brother.”
“Yes, lord. But I’m afraid that by the time we arrived the folk there were not… really…in such a way as to be questioned.”
Nothwulf nodded. He asked for no clarification. He wanted none. Bryning had been vigorous in his interrogation.
“Nothing seemed amiss to you?” Nothwulf asked instead.
“No, lord. We found nothing. Werheard had land, of course, but for all that, he was not a terribly wealthy man.”
“Werheard was a fool, which is why he was not a wealthy man. My brother gave him opportunity enough.”
“Yes, lord,” Oswin said again. “He was a fool, indeed. Easily led. We found but one thing which seemed out of place.” Oswin dug into the leather purse that hung on his belt and extracted a ring, a heavy ring made of gold, with a bright red stone set in the middle. Nothwulf felt his curiosity, his confusion, and his panic rise in equal measures. He took the ring carefully from Oswin’s fingers and examined it closely.
“The hart and boar device there,” Oswin said, pointing vaguely at the ring. “Those are ones you favor, lord, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Yes…” Nothwulf said, still looking at the ring. How, in God’s holy name, did Werheard have this? he thought. When did I see this last? He had not worn it in some time. Many months, at least, if not longer. It could have disappeared anytime since then.
“Might this have been yours, lord?” Oswin asked. “Did you give it to Werheard? A gift, perhaps?”
You know full well it’s mine, you perfidious bastard , Nothwulf thought, but when he spoke he did not let his words or his tone convey any of the confusion he felt.
“It’s certainly mine,” Nothwulf said, handing the ring back. “Or was. How Werheard came to have it, I don’t know.”
Oswin nodded as he took the ring, his expression unreadable. “Of course, lord,” he said. “Stolen by a servant, no doubt. You must be ever on the watch for thieving servants. I’m sure you’ll make a lesson of whoever you find who did this.”
“I will indeed,” Nothwulf said. They were playing a game, him and Oswin, each pretending to accept the other’s sincerity. He wondered if he should insist that Oswin return the ring. It was, after all, valuable, and it was his. He genuinely did not know how Wereheard had come to have it, though it did not reflect well on him that he did.
Better to let the whole thing drop, he thought.
“But see here,” Nothwulf said. “I have come to speak with Cynewise. My sister-in-law.” The last words were just lightly touched with sarcasm.
“Of course, lord, you have much to discuss,” Oswin said. “She’s been expecting you would pay her a visit.”
“Is she in her bedchamber?” Nothwulf asked. “I’ll be happy to wait on her, if my men are seen to.”
“Yes, lord. No, she’s not in her bedchamber. She’s in the long-hall, lord. Shall I walk with you?”
The long-hall ? Nothwulf thought. Why is she in the damned long-hall? The long-hall was the center of the ealdorman’s activities: council chamber, courthouse, a space to entertain thegns and kings. A place for feasts. It was a man’s realm, the realm of a ruler, and save for those times of feasting, no place for a woman who was not a slave or some doxy of a servant.
Nothwulf said nothing as he followed beside Oswin, a formality, given that Nothwulf knew the place far better than the shire reeve did. They crossed the courtyard and a spearman who stood by the big oak door swung it open and Nothwulf and Oswin stepped through.
The hall was unchanged since the last time Nothwulf had been there, unchanged, in truth, for as long as he could remember it, going back twenty-five years or so. The whitewashed daub of the walls seemed gray in the dim light coming in from outside, the upper reaches of the roof with its heavy beams and ancient thatch all but lost in the dark. Three long tables took up much of the space, running lengthwise down the hall, with heavy benches between them, benches built to not topple over no matter how drunk those seated on them were.
The far end of the hall was raised a bit and another table sat there, perpendicular to the others. It was where anyone of importance sat. It was where Nothwulf always sat when feasting in that place. Not in the center of the table, of course. That place had been reserved for his father, and then his brother. But no more.
To the right of the table was an open area on which sat a heavy chair, with benches around it, like three walls forming a courtyard around a main house. The chair was a throne of sorts, the place from which the ealdorman did his official business, be it doling out justice or succor for his desperate people or making plans for war or taxes. It was heart of the body that was Dorsetshire, and Nothwulf was surprised to see Cynewise sitting there.
A handful of the local thegns were sitting on the benches near her, and they were speaking and she seemed to be listening, but she looked up at the sound of the door opening.
“Oh, Nothwulf, you’re here!” she called. Her voice sounded weak and timid, unsure, and Nothwulf felt a small sense of relief. She was, as he had imagined, a frail woman who would be easily cowed.
Nothwulf, unbidden, stepped quickly down the length of the long-hall, his eyes holding Cynewise’s, his look of determination unwavering. He took the few steps up to the dais and stopped just short of the ring of benches. Only then did he shift his gaze from Cynewise to the thegns.
“Leave us,” he said, jerking his head toward the door. The thegns, who knew their place, were on their feet immediately, nodding their farewells to Cynewise and hurrying off the way Nothwulf had just come. Nothwulf watched them go, and realized that Oswin had stopped at the door and not followed him in. He and Cynewise were alone. So much the better.
Nothwulf turned back to Cynewise. Seated beside her, and a little back from the big chair, was a young woman called Aelfwyn. She was Cynewise’s maidservant, and had been for some time, having come with Cynewise from Devonshire some months before. Aelfwyn was younger than Cynewise by a year or so, Nothwulf guessed, lithe and pretty with dark brown hair and a lovely complexion, her skin white with a blush of red at her cheeks. She looked hearty and robust where Cynewise looked weak and frail.
Aelfwyn looked up and nodded and Nothwulf nodded and their eyes lingered a bit more. Then Cynewise said, “Aelfwyn, leave us, please.”
“Yes, my lady,” Aelfwyn said. She stood from the short stool on which she was perched, smooth and easy as a butterfly lifting off, and with skirts held clear brushed past Nothwulf and was gone.
“Lady, I hope you’re bearing up,” Nothwulf said, annoyed that he had not prepared words before this.
Cynewise made a weak gesture with her hand, as if she hardly had the strength to indicate how poorly she was. “A shock, a shock…” she said, her voice trailing off. “My poor, poor husband…”
“It was a horrible thing, Lady Cynewise, horrible,” Nothwulf said. “We’re looking into what drove the murderous…the murderer to do such a thing.”
Cynewise looked up at him, her expression touched with hope. “Have you found something out? Do you know why that accursed man did what he did?”
“Ah, no,” Nothwulf said. “No, I fear we do not yet know.”
Cynewise nodded her understanding. “I hardly feel safe here,” she said, her voice faltering and barely audible. “That such a thing should happen to my husband. Sure it might happen to me as well.”
Your husband of a minute’s duration, Nothwulf thought, but that was not, of course, what he said, but ra
ther, “Your safety, yes, that’s in the main what I want to speak about.”
“Yes?”
“Well, I should think that my brother was killed because he was ealdorman, because of his office. You might not be safe until the new ealdorman is installed. Until no one could see you as any threat.”
“Me? A threat?”
“Well, no, I mean, I understand you are no threat, but whoever was behind the bloody plot that killed my brother, he might see you as such.”
Cynewise nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Of course,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.
“So, that’s why I’ve come,” Nothwulf continued. “The sooner I’m installed as ealdorman, the sooner you are removed from this danger.” Cynewise looked to be a pathetic creature, seated in the chair that was far too big for her, her eyes rimmed red from having been crying through much of the night, Nothwulf imagined.
Marrying you was the only smart thing my brother ever did, Nothwulf thought. Cynewise was pretty in a way, pretty enough to couple with, at least to get a son, and probably more than that. Between her and a mistress there would be enough to keep a man satisfied. What’s more, her influence over her father, the ealdorman of Devonshire, was itself reason enough for the match. As Merewald had figured out.
Nothwulf was not yet married. Marriage was a means by which a man could expand his wealth and fortune and standing among the West Saxons. Those were opportunities to be coveted, and not squandered on some shapely little doxy with no wealth or family to speak of. That was what mistresses, servants and slaves were for. As to a wife, Nothwulf had been waiting for just the right opportunity. And he thought perhaps it had come.
“You have come…to…take your brother’s office?” Cynewise asked in her weak and hesitant voice. Nothwulf, whose mind had been elsewhere, misunderstood the question. He stammered for a beat or two before he realized she was talking about the ealdormanship, not the bedchamber.
“Yes. Yes, Lady Cynewise,” he said. “The sooner we have Bishop Ealhstan proclaim me as ealdorman, then the sooner you will be freed from all this. The sooner you will be safe.”
“Proclaim you as ealdorman?” Cynewise said, as if Nothwulf had spoken in some foreign language, the words of which made no sense to her.
“Yes, lady,” Nothwulf said, and his words carried an edge of impatience. “Proclaim me as ealdorman. King Æ thelwulf will be in Sherborne next month and he can give the appointment his royal blessing then, but until that time the bishop must proclaim me.”
“Oh,” Cynewise said. Her eyes moved away from him and she stared off into the distance, as if thinking great thoughts, which Nothwulf did not think a child such as this was capable of doing. “Proclaim you as ealdorman…” she muttered again.
“We can summon the bishop now, see to this whole thing…”
“But Merewald was my husband,” Cynewise said, looking up at Nothwulf. Her words true though they were, were in no way germane to the discussion and they threw him off balance.
“Yes. Yes, he was.” For one damned minute , Nothwulf thought again.
“So…if he was my husband, I am not certain…I don’t know…but I am not certain that…you think you should sit as ealdorman?”
“Yes, of course, Cynewise. Of course I should.” It was a ridiculous thing to ask. He could see now she was confused and he tried for a reassuring tone. “I am Merewald’s brother. His only brother.” He considered mentioning that their father had always considered him, Nothwulf, to be the son most suited to be heir, but he decided against it.
“Yes…ealdorman…” Cynewise said, her voice trailing off. “But, some of the thegns, they seem to feel that, as Merewald’s wife, I should take the office. I don’t know. They say such things have happened before, wives serving in their husband’s office.”
Traitorous bastards! Nothwulf thought. Sure the thegns would want a frail thing like Cynewise to be ealdorman, a child they could bend to their will.
“Of course, Cynewise,” Nothwulf said, his tone still soothing. “Sister, if I could call you sister. But remember, your marriage was of short duration. It was not…pray, forgive me…it was not even consecrated.”
“True…” Cynewise said, her words weak, as if she was half asleep. “But we were married, you know. We said the words. Bishop Ealhstan called us man and wife. There were many there as witness.”
“Yes, of course. But see here, you’re still overcome with grief. This is why you must look to me for guidance. Merewald, my brother, he would want you to look to me, just as he would want me to come to your aid.”
“Yes, of course he would. And I’m so confused,” Cynewise said. “I…I just don’t know who to trust…what to do…”
“That’s why I’m here,” Nothwulf said.
She looked up and gave a weak smile, the sort one might get from a person near death. “God bless you for coming. I’m so tired now. I cried all night, you know, and only near dawn did I finally sleep. Please, will you call on me tomorrow, when I have had some time to think on this? I can’t think now…I don’t know what to think.”
“Of course,” Nothwulf said. He made a short bow, then turned and stepped down from the dais and back toward the big door at the far end of the long-hall. It was only when he was halfway across the floor that he thought, That did not go at all as I had hoped it would.
Chapter Five
If I were a king who reddens spears,
I would put down my enemies;
I would raise my strongholds;
my wars would be many.
Fragmentary Annals of Ireland
The gathering was held in the great church at the monastery at Ferns. It was one of the few places on the monastery grounds large enough to hold all the men in attendance. But that was not the only reason that Abbot Columb had chosen that site. He had hoped that being in that holy place, in the presence of God, would calm tempers in the same way the Lord Christ had calmed the waters at Galilee.
That did not happen. But at least there was room enough for everyone.
The abbot was seated in a big chair near the front of the church, not on the dais where the altar stood but right near it. At his side was Abbot Donngal, the abbot of the monastery at Beggerin, about fifteen miles due south of Ferns, near the wide harbor at the mouth of the River Slaney.
Father Donngal was shaken, angry, and seemed ailing to the point of being near death, but with Donngal it was hard to tell. He had looked that way for as long as Columb had known him, and he never seemed to get better or worse, he just kept on living and complaining about all things in life. Columb wondered if Donngal would find cause for complaint when he went to his final reward. He imagined he would.
Abbot Columb had not seen Donngal for a year at least. He did not often make the trip from his own monastery of Beggerin. But now he had, as had every other churchman and sister who lived there; all had fled the monastery by the sea for the dubious safety of Ferns. The laypeople, meanwhile, had scattered into the countryside. Because the heathens had come.
Or, more correctly, a new heathen army had arrived. For some months Beggerin and Ferns had maintained a tense but stable peace with the Northmen under the command of a pagan named Thorgrim Night Wolf. The monasteries had provided food and ale, and Ferns had woven cloth for sails, and all this had been exchanged for silver. Thus far both sides had upheld their end of the bargain.
And both Columb and Donngal had been assured that once the ships were repaired and the sails made, then Thorgrim and his heathens would sail off, never to return. The best the abbots could do was hope that Thorgrim was true to his word, never a reasonable thing to hope when the Northmen were involved. But so far Thorgrim had done what he said he would do.
Then, a week past, that awkward standoff had collapsed when four more heathen ships with many warriors aboard had landed on the north side of the bay, less than a mile from Beggerin. Luckily, the hand of God had reached down to stop them from sacking the place and carrying the men and women off to
be slaves or worse. Instead the pagan host had remained on the beach long enough for everyone at Beggerin to flee.
Now Donngal sat wheezing and frowning and grumbling at Columb’s left hand. On Columb’s other side, ten feet away, standing with arms folded, stood Brother Bécc mac Carthach, a former soldier who miraculously escaped death after a Northman’s sword carried off his left eye and half his face. Once recovered, he had abandoned the military life for the life of a monk. He was the most loyal, most selfless, and hardest man that Columb had ever known. Brother Bécc did not complain. In fact, he hardly spoke.
The benches that had been brought in for the convenience of the others were now crowded with the more important men of that part of Ireland, the southern and eastern regions of Laigin. There were the rí túaithe , the minor nobles, the landholders who controlled the largest swaths of land and owned the biggest herds of cattle. There were the aire forgill , the Lords of Superior Testimony, and below them men of the various ranks down to the aire déso, the Lords of Vassalry, who had under their rule five free men and five not free and who received five cows per year from each of the five free men. They were all near panic. All of that part of Ireland was near panic with the arrival of this new Godless horde.
And, like Donngal, they were angry, each speaking in his turn, speaking loud for greater emphasis as well as to be heard over the beating of the rain on the roof, thirty feet above them.
I should have held this gathering out of doors, Columb mused. That would have shortened it up quite a bit.
A man named Guaire was speaking. Guaire was one of the Lords of Superior Testimony, though the testimony he was giving at that moment was in no way superior. It was, in fact, a tedious rewording of the same point that had been made several times already.
“Abbot, with all respect due you, this is what happens when you make a bargain with Satan, when these heathens are suffered to remain on our shores, and even provided with cloth, of all things! And now of course more have joined them, just as many of us knew they would. A whole heathen army on our doorstep….”
A Vengeful Wind: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 8) Page 5