by Joan Wolf
The Saxon prince held the door for the priest and they went in out of the sun. Niniane led the way to a room that was comfortably furnished with well-worn wicker furniture and then disappeared to get a shirt for her husband. Ceawlin sat down, not at all embarrassed by his lean brown shirtless torso. He smiled engagingly at Naille and said, "Gereint is doing very well."
"I saw him as I came in," Naille answered. "But I admit I was surprised to see Ferris and Owain and Druce as well."
Ceawlin shrugged his shoulders and the motion set off a ripple of muscles in his upper arms. "You know boys. Once they find out there is weapon training going on, nothing can keep them away."
"How old are you, Prince?" Father Mai asked.
"Eighteen," said Ceawlin.
Father Mai looked at Naille but the Briton did not appear to share his amusement that this eighteen-year-old should be speaking so easily of "boys." Niniane came in with a shirt for her husband and he put it on. Then she sat on the stool that was next to Ceawlin's knees and looked expectantly at the priest.
"When will it be convenient for you to marry us, Father?" she asked.
"I shall be here for at least two weeks," the priest replied. "Whenever you like within that period."
A girl came in the door of the room carrying a tray. She put it down on a table and Niniane smiled and said, "Thank you, Meghan."
"Meghan is happy here, I understand," Naille remarked as the girl left the room. "I was speaking to her uncle at the market last week."
"I am glad to hear that." Niniane handed cups of beer to the men. "She is a very good worker. And it is nice for me to have a few women around. All these men!"
"Niniane likes to put people to work," said Ceawlin. There was an undertone in his voice that the priest did not quite understand.
His wife came back to her stool and sat down again. "Ceawlin and I think it would be nice to have a wedding feast," she said, ignoring her husband's comment. "We would like to invite all the families who have been so good to us these last months. What do you think, Naille?"
Naille stared at her small, innocent face. He was not sure he liked the idea at all. Lately he had been wondering if perhaps he had allowed Ceawlin to insinuate himself into the Atrebates tribe a little too easily. He had never intended the prince to become so integral a part of local life when he had agreed to allow him to stay at Bryn Atha. He had envisioned Bryn Atha as an isolated island of Saxons, safely under his eye. It was not working out as he had expected. Even this business of Gereint ... It had seemed such a good idea at the time, to get the Saxon to train his own enemies. But ...
"I know so little of Christians," Ceawlin was saying to the priest with his most charming little-boy look. "My thanes would find it of great interest, to see a real Christian wedding."
"A wonderful idea!" the priest said heartily. "We shall invite all the faithful who can come."
As Naille met Ceawlin's celestial sea-blue eyes, he had the distinct feeling that he had been outmaneuvered.
* * * *
They were married a week later, on a day of cloudless blue sky and brilliant sun. Ceawlin and his men had hunted all week, bringing in a wide variety of game which Niniane and the three girls who were now living at Bryn Atha cooked for the company along with vegetables from the villa garden and loaves of white bread baked from wheat. Tables had been set up all over the large reception room, and the food was put on big wooden platters so the guests could serve themselves. Ceawlin had made sure there was a quantity of beer.
Naille found himself seated next to Sigurd at the main table, with Alanna and their older children on his other side. Naille thought the Saxon seemed a little subdued today and said, with seeming casualness, "You do not mind that your prince weds in a Christian ceremony?"
"Of course not." Sigurd was clearly surprised by the question. That was not it, then, Naille thought. "It was very nice," the Saxon added courteously. They were all courteous, these Saxons. It was a constant surprise to Naille, who had always had very different visions of the ancient enemy.
What would Coinmail think, Naille wondered, to see his people supping cheek by jowl with Saxon warriors? Of course, Coinmail had given Niniane to them. Naille had been present when Cynric had asked for her for his son. He could not complain, then, about this wedding.
And what Naille had said to the priest might, after all, prove true. Niniane might convert Ceawlin. He knew Alanna thought she would. Why, then, did Naille himself find the thought so unlikely?
The noise in the room was growing louder and louder. Naille leaned a little forward so he could see Ceawlin, who was on the other side of Sigurd. Niniane was speaking to the priest, who was seated to her right, and Ceawlin was staring at the door, an alert look to the tilt of his head. Naille had a clear view of his profile: the faint hollow under the hard cheekbone, the straight nose, the long, firm mouth. He looked very sober, not at all like a bridegroom. Then someone was running into the room, pushing his way through the tables, heading for Ceawlin. Naille realized with a little ripple of surprise that Ceawlin had heard him coming over all the noise.
"My lord! My lord!" It was one of Ceawlin's thanes, Naille saw. He thought it was the one they called Bertred. He was very young. "They are coming, my lord!" he gasped out. "I saw them. Edric and a war band. They are coming!"
"You were watching the road to Corinium?" Ceawlin sounded perfectly calm. The voices were dying away now as everyone realized what was happening.
"Yes, my lord. I saw them from the sentry point, my lord. They are seven miles away. Less now. I had to get back here."
Ceawlin said something in Saxon. Then, "How many?"
"I counted forty, my lord."
"All right." Ceawlin stood up. "We will stop them at the ford, the way we planned it." To Bertred, "They are on foot?"
"Yes."
"Good. We have time, then." He looked around the room and said, "I am sorry, my friends, to have to leave so precipitately, but it seems we have business elsewhere. The queen has sent a war band for me and I do not want to disappoint it." His eyes were a blaze of color in his tanned face. "Stay and enjoy your food. I will be back later."
"There are forty of them, Prince!" It was the voice of the priest. Naille looked his way and saw Niniane's white, stricken face.
The Saxon thanes were all heading for the door. "Well, there are seventeen of us." Ceawlin gave the priest a cocky grin. "The odds are about right."
"Eighteen, my lord!" It was a young British voice and it was a stunned moment before Naille realized it was his son who was on his feet and heading after the thanes.
"Nineteen!" said Ferris from a table in the middle of the room, and he was standing too.
"Twenty!" said another voice.
Then, "Twenty-one!"
Naille stared in numbed horror as the boys of his tribe all began to pour after the Saxons. Then he got his voice. "Gereint!"
His son was already in the doorway, but he turned. "This is not your fight," Naille said over the heads of the diners. All activity in the room had stopped, as if frozen in time.
"Yes, Father, it is." The boy's voice was respectful but firm. "If the Saxon eorls ever get a grip on Atrebates land, they will push us out. That is what Ceawlin says, and I believe him. If he wins, he will be our good lord and take care of us. I believe that too. So it is our fight, you see."
Naille's head whipped around to where the Saxon prince was standing. Ceawlin's face was very grave. "You have done this," Naille said to him.
"I have said nothing to Gereint that I did not say to you," the prince replied. His voice was very quiet, very calm. "But I will say this to you now, Naille. You are the leader of your people. If you do not want these boys to follow me, then I will not take them."
"No!"'
"Quiet, Gereint." Ceawlin spoke very softly but Gereint fell silent. Naille looked at his son. It did not seem as if anyone in the room was even breathing.
"All right," the Briton heard himself saying. His voice s
ounded oddly far away. "They may go."
Gereint's face lit like a candle. "Thank you, Father!" and he turned and ran out of the room. Sigurd had already left the table, and when Naille sat back down, it was just himself, Alanna, their two daughters, and the priest. Niniane was following the men out the door.
"Are you mad, Naille?" Alanna cried at him. Her face was ashen. "They will still be outnumbered!"
"He will be safe, Alanna."
"How can you say that?"
"I saw Ceawlin fight at Beranbyrg. He is worth ten men by himself alone. And the boy is right. Our best interest lies with Ceawlin."
"How did this happen?" Alanna wailed. "I don't understand. No one expected such a thing. No one!"
"Ceawlin did," Naille replied tiredly. "Else why did he keep a guard posted on the road?"
There was a long silence. Then, "He never said anything to us."
"I always thought he was a very clever young man," said Naille. "But I realize now that I have underestimated him. Gereint is right. He is not a man to make an enemy of." He looked around the room, now in a state of upheaval. "Well, I suppose I had better go and find a weapon as well."
"You are not going!"
He stood and looked down into his wife's appalled eyes. He gave her a crooked smile. "You know, Alanna, it will be nice to be on the winning side for a change." And he followed his son out the door.
* * * *
"And to think I almost didn't post the sentries on the two roads today," Ceawlin said to Sigurd as they saddled their horses in the stableyard. "I almost didn't, you know. It seemed a shame to have two of the thanes miss the banquet. There is little enough fun around Bryn Atha these days, with everyone sweating in the fields every time Niniane says something is ready to be harvested."
"Niniane is only being careful for our future. It's well we have someone who knows about growing food."
"I know, I know. Niniane is always right." But Ceawlin did not look at all irritated. His eyes were blazing. "Gods!" he said. "What luck! Edric did come after all."
"I don't know that I would call it luck," Sigurd replied a little dryly. "He is obviously hoping to surprise us. He took the longer Corinium road." Sigurd raised his eyebrows and for a moment looked very like his father. "You were right to post guards on both roads, Ceawlin. But I cannot understand why my father did not warn us."
"Edric got Cutha out of the way somehow." All around them men were saddling up, Saxons and Atrebates together. "I want everyone in the courtyard in two minutes!" Ceawlin called. Then, to Sigurd, "Bring Bayvard for me, Sigurd. I must see Niniane before I leave." Sigurd was busy tightening his girth and merely nodded in reply. Ceawlin tied his reins to the fence and left the stableyard.
She was with Alanna and the rest of the women in the courtyard in front of the main door of the villa. They all turned together to watch Ceawlin come, long legs covering the ground with his characteristic swift grace. When he had almost reached them, Niniane moved forward to meet him. They stood together some ten feet from the huddled group of women and he looked down into her eyes. They were more gray than blue, a sign that she was not happy.
"You never told me you were keeping a lookout for a war band," she said.
"There was no point in worrying you," he replied. "It was only a precaution."
"You said Edric would never dare leave Winchester."
He shrugged. "Well, he has."
"And you're pleased." She sounded bitter. "Your eyes are bright as stars. You are absolutely delighted."
"I'm a warrior, Niniane. Of course I'm delighted. It would be strange if I were not."
"But, Ceawlin," and despite herself her voice trembled, "suppose you are killed?"
"Death must come to us all, Nan." His voice was perfectly matter-of-fact. "There are worse ways to go than with glory in battle." He put his hands on her shoulders. "But I do not think it is my time yet. This is a good thing, Nan. I feel it. And your people are joining with me. It is the start. I know it. The start of the road back to Winchester."
She stared up at him. He was so confident, so unafraid for himself. It was unfair of her to burden him with her own fears. She forced herself to smile. "I will pray for your victory, Ceawlin. And for your safety. God go with you."
"There speaks a good wife." He bent his head and she held up her face for his kiss. "I'll be back in time to celebrate our marriage properly, I promise you that," he murmured in her ear. Then Sigurd was bringing Bayvard into the courtyard and he turned away. Five minutes later, the courtyard was empty of horses and men, and the women trailed disconsolately back into the house.
* * * *
Niniane had spent some fear-filled hours in her young life, but she did not think anything had ever been as bad as the waiting she was enduring now. What would she do if anything should happen to him? How should she live? She had been his but five short months, yet she felt she had belonged to him forever. It was for him, for him and for his child that she carried, that she had been striving and working ever since they came to Bryn Atha. It was for him that she had endangered her immortal soul, ignoring all the strictures of her own faith about the sinfulness of physical passion. She had lived with him in sin, gladly, joyously, intensely, holding nothing back even though she knew their union was unblessed by the church.
And God had not punished her. God had softened Ceawlin's heart so that he had agreed to a Christian marriage. God had given her a child. Out of her sin had come all her happiness.
If he should be killed now ... Surely God would not be so cruel? Not on her wedding day.
Ceawlin.... my love....
"Niniane."
She opened her eyes and turned to look blankly at Alanna. "If we are all to wait here for the men to return," Naille's wife said practically, "we might as well be busy. I'm sure you have work we can help you with."
"Oh. Yes, Alanna. Of course. Thank you." Niniane focused her brain with difficulty. "The animals have to be fed, and the men are not here ..."
"Just tell me what must be done."
Niniane smiled. "You are very good. Well, then, the chickens ..." They fed the animals and then ate themselves and then gathered once again in the large reception room, a party of women and the priest. It was growing late and the sky was beginning to darken. The sixteen women left behind in Bryn Atha all had husbands or sons or brothers with Ceawlin, and the apprehension in the room thickened with the dusk. Finally Niniane fetched her harp. She was singing one of Alric's songs about a storm at sea, singing in Saxon and translating for the benefit of her British audience, when one of the women leapt to her feet. "I hear the horses!" she cried.
The harp stilled. The shutters and windows were open, and now they all could clearly hear the noise of hoofbeats. Then came the rumble of male voices, then laughter. Niniane sat perfectly still as the rest of the women ran to the door. Over all the noise of men and horses a clear young voice floated, full of pride. "We won, Mother!" It was Gereint. "We killed half of them and chased the other half back to Winchester!" Niniane's fingers relaxed their deathlike pressure on the wood of the harp and she went to join the rest of the women in the courtyard.
* * * *
They had indeed won, surprising Edric at Cob Ford. The ground on the Bryn Atha side of the ford was high, and Ceawlin's men had come out of cover, pouring down on the men still wading through the water. The attack had been completely unexpected, and their charge, with the impetus given them by the hill, had been ferocious. The men in the water had struggled to raise their weapons, but their shields had been slung across their backs. The men in the front line perished before they could even begin to defend themselves.
"The Saxons went first," Naille told Alanna as they lay down to sleep later. There were people sleeping all over the floors of Bryn Atha this night, but Naille and Alanna had been given the bed in Coinmail's room. "Ceawlin was scrupulous about keeping our men safely to the rear. We just followed the Saxon line. It was surprisingly easy."
"But weren't you outn
umbered?"
"Not by much. And it didn't matter. The charge was too strong. They could not stand against it. The river was running red with blood by the time we were finished. And we have only a few flesh wounds!"
"You sound as if you enjoyed yourself," Alanna accused him.
"I rather think I did." Naille was surprised at himself.
"What I want to know is what Coinmail is going to do when he hears all this." Alanna raised herself on her elbow to look down into her husband's face. "You know his plans. He would never have agreed to fight alongside Ceawlin. To Coinmail, Saxons are the enemy."
"He may change his mind. When he meets Ceawlin—"
"Coinmail never changes his mind. The world could fall down around him, but he would never change his mind. You have known him since he was a child. You know that."
"He gave his word not to take up arms against the West Saxons again."
"He never had any intention of keeping his word."
"I know. And I am not sure that he is right. If a people cannot trust in their prince's word ..."
"He did not give his word to his people; he gave it to a pagan."
"I know. And that pagan has implicit trust in it. Because to Ceawlin, his word is sacred."
Alanna sighed and lay back down again. "Perhaps he will become a Christian. Then even Coinmail could not object to him."
Naille yawned. "God in heaven, woman, but I'm tired. Let me go to sleep."
"It is all very well for you, Naille ..." Alanna was beginning, but her only answer was a very gentle snore.
Ceawlin was one of the few other men in Bryn Atha to share the privacy of a bedroom with his wife that night. But, unlike Naille, he did not waste his time talking. Nor did he get much sleep. But he woke the following morning, ablaze with energy, and immediately put the women to work cooking a victory banquet for his men.