“The Earl Aelfgar is truly well, my lady,” he assured me. “Not one wound did he receive. Only one of his Vikings was killed, and he was knifed by a wench he raped in Hereford.”
I chose to ignore that lurid detail. “I rejoice that my lord father is well, and I thank your Prince for sending you to tell us the good news.”
He smiled a little ruefully. How I enjoyed the way his dark eyes admired me! “I must confess, my lady, that being the herald of victory was not my only mission.”
Aha! I was right! “And what other have you?”
“Your safe conduct, Lady Edyth.”
I was startled. “My safe conduct! Do you not intend to provide us all safe conduct back to East Anglia?”
“No, my lady, I understand the Earl Aelfgar is sending a ship for his wife and sons that will take them to England. I am to bring you to my Lord Griffith.”
I went cold with shock. “What are you saying?” His smile became gentler, a little amused. “Your father has affianced you to wed my Prince, in return for his support. That was the sufficient inducement I mentioned. You will accompany me to Wales to marry Griffith ap Llywelyn, Prince of Wales, King of Gwynedd, Powys, Deheubarth and Morgannwg.”
And the unfamiliar names rolled from his tongue like a peal of bells.
WALES
THE HOUSEHOLD WAS thrown into disarray by Madog’s news. We had gone from being poor to rich again within the length of a cat’s tail; it meant a lot of adjustments for everyone.
The Lady Maeve had always treated us well, I thought, but after hearing the news of the Earl’s restoration she made such an effort on our behalf that her previous hospitality seemed slight by comparison. It was interesting to observe the difference.
“Power,” Edwin commented, “is most notable in the effect it has on others. For myself, I feel exactly the same as before, but I seem to appear much improved to the girls of the household!”
As my lady mother and the boys readied themselves for the return to East Anglia, I felt myself set apart from my family for the first time in my life. There were preparations to make for me, too—extensive ones. Although in actuality I hardly possessed a thing, I had to be properly dowered for my Welsh Prince. Seamstresses were hired, bolts of cloth brought, and finery appeared as if by magic to be heaped into the dower chest. The Lady Maeve gave of her finest goods, though I have no doubt she expected to be repaid in still finer coin by the Earl Aelfgar.
I found myself confronted with a whole new bag of fears that I had never faced before. It is one thing to dream of a prince, dreams being your own creation and easily controlled. But to face the actuality of the thing is something else. The child in me wanted to go back to the safety of the dream, the adult in me was extremely fearful of the coming reality. How to imagine a man, a place, a completely unfamiliar life?
Worst of all, there was no one to confide in. Emma was of the opinion that I was very fortunate and should count my blessings. “Then you go in my place,” I offered her sulkily.
“Not me, childie! I’m no use to a prince!”
“You should be glad of the chance to start a new life on your own,” Edwin commented. “I have no doubt that our lord father will continue to get himself involved in these skirmishes with the Godwines, and it will only mean more trouble. You’ll be well out of it.”
I doubted that, since it seemed Prince Griffith was our father’s chief ally. But there was never any point in arguing with Edwin; his opinions were begotten in stone and only grew more unyielding.
I took my doubts to my lady mother. “How shall I behave in Wales? Are they so very different from us? Will they like me?”
She stared at me as if I had no right to ask such a question. “You will behave as the daughter of a noble Saxon, that is enough. They are all barbarians, anyway; it matters not what they think of you.”
“But what about the Prince?” I persisted. “Will he like me?”
“Lord deliver us from plague!” my mother exclaimed. “He agreed to take you, didn’t he? So I suppose he shall like you well enough, you’re young and comely and you can bear him sons.”
I realized I was annoying her, but I had to ask anyway. “What if I don’t like him? What if he’s gross and mean and treats me badly?”
Her eyes were pitying when she looked at me, but there was no answer in them. “I told you before, Edyth. You are the daughter of a Saxon Earl, you come from an old and honored lineage. You will behave always in keeping with your station. Now let us have no more of this nursery whining!” With her own restoration to being a person of circumstance, my lady mother had regained much of the backbone she had seemed to lose.
That was another thing to ponder. Was courage and dignity a pose, at least for some? A mask they assumed when they were unchallenged, a mask behind which a frightened child might hide? If adults could hide like that, what about me? Behind what mask could I conceal my own fears and cowardices?
A ship was being sent for my family the way we had come to Ireland, down the Saxon Shore. So it would be many weeks before my mother and brothers left the household of the Lady Maeve. For me time was growing short. As soon as I was properly prepared and dowered, I was to leave straightway for Wales with Madog.
How hard it was to go! How dear each familiar face suddenly became; even haughty Edwin and sullen Morkere were at once magicked into my sweet and beloved little brothers whom I might never see again! Perhaps I had misjudged them. I could even forgive Edwin, and chuckle to myself, when I heard him boasting outrageously, “My sister is going to marry the King of Wales, you know. She will be more important than anyone in Ireland!”
When our ship at last nosed out into the harbor and I set my face to the east, I felt that I was leaving my own self behind on the shore, like the skin of a locust split asunder.
That trip was different from the one to Ireland. Now I was the important personage on board, and I saw that it made quite a difference. Foods were specially prepared to tempt my appetite, and even my Emma was treated almost like a lady. Madog seemed always to be hovering at the rim of my vision, anxious to be of service. It was “my lady this” and “my lady that” and “Please advise the Captain that my lady wishes …” I had of a once acquired much authority;
I was a person to be pleased and feared!
I began to understand in some small measure why it is that men seek power.
Then I stood at the rail and saw the coast of Wales rise from the ocean once more, beautiful and forbidding, and my heart pounded in my throat unbearably.
We sailed past Anglesey and Llandudno, heading for the mouth of the river the Welsh folk call Clwyd. Our destination was the Castle of Rhuddlan, Griffith’s foremost stronghold. The bitter wind of the Irish Sea became sweeter as we neared landfall, and the gulls wheeling to meet us sang a haunting song that seemed different from their raucous cries in Dublin harbor.
“They feel the hwyl come upon them,” Madog told me.
The what? How could I ever learn this language?
Madog was patient. “The ‘hoo-ill,’ the spirit of the land. It is a pride and a glory, my lady; it affects every living thing in the land of the Cymry.”
“Perhaps it doesn’t apply to Saxons,” I remarked.
It was not a bustling city where we cast anchor; it seemed more a poor fishing village. The coastline was not so rugged here; as we approached I could see that the land beyond appeared to be a great upland plateau. A huddle of modest huts stood back from the shore, dark buildings of timber and wattle.
“That is the tref, the village,” Madog explained.
“These folk do some fishing, but mostly they farm the uplands and keep some sheep. They will all be turning out to see you, my lady. The arrival of our Prince Griffith’s bride will be the occasion of much feasting.”
Madog spoke truly. Before a smallboat could be put down to take us ashore, a crowd had gathered on the beach, vomited out of every hut and hovel.
They were dark, the Cymry, with wild locks
that blew in the constant wind, and they moved with the grace of flowing water. Dressed in robes of rough wool, knotted about the waist with thongs of leather, men and women together they came to greet us. As the bottom of our boat scraped against the shell beach, a dozen pairs of eager hands seized it and dragged it forward.
“Sweet Mary!” breathed Emma behind me. “They are a wild, dark people for sure, my lady! You are given to wed a savage!”
I had been thinking something of the kind myself until Emma spoke, and glancing aside I saw the red stain of a blush on Madog’s cheek. He had been good to me; I would not have him embarrassed by my nursery-maid. Something perverse took hold of me then and overrode my fear.
“Be silent!” I commanded her as I would not have dared a month before. “We know Madog and the Earl’s Owain, and they are men of much quality! Already I like this land, and these people are my … my husband’s subjects. We will be friends.” I looked into the nearest pair of dark eyes and smiled my brightest smile.
The shout that went up was so sudden it affrighted us all. The Cymry could not understand my Saxon tongue, but they understood a hopeful smile well enough. They lifted me out of the boat with a mighty heave, snatching me right past the astonished Madog and the oarsmen, and lifted me to their shoulders!
They splashed through the scallops of foam at the sea’s edge and ran with me inland, toward a place where a huge pile of wood was built up. Men lit torches and held them to the stack until it ignited, sending a tower of fire into the twilight sky. All around me was the music of voices singing, chanting, with words I could not understand but with tones of joy and happiness.
They set me down gently on a low block of carved red sandstone, a sort of small altar set up at the tide’s limit. Although it was still too cold for the blooming of flowers, garlands had been made of shells and leaves and braided hair; these were hung around my neck while all nodded approval. The women reached out their hands and touched my cheeks and the yellow of my hair and looked at each other wonderingly. The Cymry women were smaller than Saxon women, their bones fine and delicate; in spite of my furs and velvet I felt like a great lump compared to them.
All the men wore robes of varying lengths, tattered about their calves. My eyes missed the clean look of our Saxon garb, the short tunic and colored hose with cross garters. But I found the men handsome of face and form; they did not repel me as they danced about me, singing.
Then Emma came scurrying up the beach, frantic as a mother hen after a lost chick. “My poor lady, what have they done to you?” she cried, wringing her hands over my imaginary misfortune.
“I think they have done me homage, Emma,” I told her as calmly as I could.
“So they have, my lady!” called Madog cheerfully. He did not seem at all upset by the rowdiness of my reception. “Saxons are not usually welcome here, but this woman, Angharad”—he gestured to the matron whose stare I had met with that first smile—“she has the Sight. Your soul cannot lie to her; she always knows the truth of a person. She has accepted you and that is enough.”
I was much flattered by my welcome, but at the same time I felt a touch of contempt for people who would base their acceptance of a stranger on such a slender thread. How easily these Welsh must be fooled, I thought. Then.
The feasting Madog had spoken of began. The bonfire was used like an oven, haunches of meat with pikes thrust through them were being held in the flames to be roasted. Flagons of mead were passed from hand to hand, and I was given a big wad of bread with a fish paste spread upon it.
The ship was being unloaded by torchlight. From my seat of honor on the sandstone I saw my dowry trunks deposited on the shore, and each new one was eagerly inspected by the villagers. They never touched them, however, just circled round them pointing and exclaiming. My hastily assembled trappings of wealth were making an impression.
“The bonfire light will be seen by the watch-guard at the caste,” Madog assured me. “Eat lightly, my lady. Soon they will be coming to take you to Rhuddlan.”
Even as the wind freshened from the sea and Emma began rummaging in the chests to find me a warmer cloak, they came, a long procession of men, winding down the sloping face of the headland to the white beach where I waited, heart a-thud once more.
First came a troop of fierce-faced warriors, bearing shield and glaive. They marched single file, which I was to learn later was a wise maneuver in a mountain land. They were followed by a band of courtiers, much more richly dressed than my welcoming party from the beach. They were mounted on the most beautiful ponies I ever saw, clever little beasts with large liquid eyes like deer.
Emma looked fearfully at the procession as it approached. “There is no litter, my lady!” Shock was in her voice.
“I understand that the Lady Edyth can ride well,” Madog commented. “Prince Griffith was muchly pleased by that. I am sure that a fine mount has been provided her.”
I had to look down and toy with the garland around my neck to keep from laughing outright. I fear it was not concern for my dignity that prompted Emma’s upset. More likely it was her horror at discovering that she herself must walk or ride a pony. On formal occasions my nurse had always shared the litter with me. “I am a woman grown, Emma,” I reminded her. “I no longer require you at my elbow; I am sure the Prince’s men will find you a suitable place.” My speech befit my new station, but I was hurt by the hurt in her old eyes.
I was greeted straightway in the name of Griffith ap Llywelyn, Prince of Gwynedd and Ruler of All Wales. With much deference and ceremony I was given the reins of a little gray horse who won my heart the first moment, and when I forgot my new dignity and vaulted onto his back I was given my second spontaneous cheer of the day.
In all the excitement there was one disappointment. In my girlish dreams Prince Griffith had come to greet me, but not in the flesh. After all my anxieties I would have liked it much if he had been there, that I might see him straightway and know my fate.
Up we went and up, good Madog riding at my side. We followed a path cut in white limestone that glowed eerily in the torchlight, with a great hedge of hawthorn and ivy springing up beside us. I glanced at its black bulk.
“Is it safe for so large a party to ride abroad by night, Madog?” I asked my companion.
He seemed quite insulted. “This is the land of Prince Griffith, my lady! No man living would dare to offer harm to you here! You are more safe now than a babe in her dam’s arms!”
I was not so sure about that. In east Anglia, or in Ireland, for that matter, the creak of carts loaded with chests of rich belongings would have been a sore temptation to cutthroats and thieves. But Madog’s tone suggested the mere mention of such a thing would be an insult here, so I kept my peace.
Only in the echoing vault of my own head did I send up a small, voiceless cry: Ah, Father, what have you sent me to? I am afraid, sire; come take me home again and make things as they were!
Such prayers are never answered; they are almost too foolish to mention. Only the sleepy voices of the cuckoos in the hawthorn hedge answered me.
Up and up, and on and on. Being Cymry, our party soon began singing to the music of harps some of the courtiers carried. Wild and lovely the music was, and passing strange. Not word one did I understand, yet it seemed my heart could understand all of it, and in that time the fear at last left me for good. The doors to the past were shut to me, and I was coming into my own world.
The moon came out, peeking shyly at first through trailing tatters of cloud, then pouring such a pure and intense light down upon us that the torches of the servitors were unnecessary. Looking ahead, I saw that we were topping the headland, and the rolling plain spread before us, lush fields, dark woodlands, great outcroppings of stone. Across the sweep of the land a mighty shape huddled in shadowy dignity before a distant mountain.
“That is Rhuddlan, my lady,” said Madog with simple pride.
Rhuddlan Castle was a massive timbered fortress, with no such friendly air abou
t it as our Saxon manorhouse possessed. It was built not for hospitality but for protection, and the width of its walls and size of its watchtowers gave mute evidence of its strength.
Strange to say, it did not seem forbidding to me. Emma told me later that she crossed herself when she saw the place, but I only had a sense of peace. Bathed in moonlight, its air scented with hints of the oncoming spring, Rhuddlan opened its mighty wooden arms to welcome me, and I went gladly in.
We rode through gates set beside a square gate tower and entered a courtyard of earth and slate. Grooms ran out to catch the horses’ bridles, and glad voices shouted greetings. I heard the rumble of the baggage carts being taken off into the darkness at my left.
A herald much like Madog in face and stature trotted up to us hotfoot, turned and faced the large rectangular hall which centered the fortress and cried, “The Lady Edyth the Saxon!” in perfect Saxon tongue. Then he repeated my name in Welsh, a lovely rippling that sounded most like “Aldith.”
The doors of the hall were thrown open, and a man stood alone, his back to the light from within. I could not make out his face, but his imperious bearing as he stood there was all the identification he needed.
The herald confirmed it. “Prince Griffith ap Llywelyn!” he cried.
An assemblage appeared behind him in the doorway, watching eagerly as he came slowly down the steps toward us. Is he young or old? Fair or foul? I strained my eyes with peering.
The party around me fell back as he advanced, leaving only Madog at my side. I sat as straight as I could on my pony, whose reins I had refused to abandon to a groom, and tried to look as I thought a proud Saxon lady should. Whatever my bridegroom might be, I was determined that he should think he had chosen well in me.
It took him hours and hours to reach me. I thought surely the cock must crow daybreak before he was close enough that I could see his face. Madog leaped agilely from his mount and stood beside it in a formal salute, knuckling his forelock and unsmiling.
The Wind From Hastings Page 4