by Leah Fleming
They dozed by the spring, watching the prayer cloths flutter, and Fritha told the lady about her lost children and how she found comfort by the water. How she planted marigolds with buttery petals and flowers from the hedgerows. Ludmilla was reminded of the shrine at the Minster where the Blessed Chad performed miracles for the faithful at his holy well. If she prayed to the spirit of the spring, would it help St Werburga rescue her from marriage to an old man?
She went to rinse her face and her arms slipped gently into the spring and sank down, waving under the surface. As the evening drew on and the ale weighed down her eyelids she accepted that her fate was sealed. There was nothing more to be done.
Close by a horn blew, loud and confident. They had no time to scatter before a posse of horses rode into the field followed by a flurry of running men with shields and spears who surrounded them quickly. The terrified group faced the thick thighs of an armed man on horseback who peered down at each of them in turn until his eyes caught sight of the girl’s silken veil. ‘Are you of Aethelflaeda’s kin, daughter of Wulfrun the ring giver? Have you been kept against your will by these ruffians?’ The servant stepped forward, trying to defend her.
‘Sire, I’m Osbald, churl to Wulfrun. My lady’s come to no harm. We have been fed and watered by these kind folk, settlers in the forest. Do them no harm, I beg you.’
‘Let the lady speak for herself.’ The leader pointed his sword and lifted her veil to see the fine square face with its flushed cheeks and ale-sparkling eyes, the rosebud lips and shapely outline of the young maid. He was well satisfied by what he saw there. She in turn saw the strong face of a warrior with a scar across his cheek, hair the colour of harvest corn, the bull-like figure of youth and strength. She bowed meekly in submission.
‘My servant speaks only the truth. How come you know of our plight and of my kin?’
‘Your brother awaits in my hall. Those raiders did not get far before we clashed swords and brought them low. Others, I see, took their revenge in the forest. He asked us to hunt for you, knowing you had taken flight. This part of the forest is mine, together with all who dwell therein. Even now the Lady Aethelflaeda of Tamworthig is on her horse, sword in hand, ready to chase the northmen back over the Trent. You will return with us to the hall and afterwards to your father’s house. Until these brigands are gone, it is not safe for noblewomen to be abroad.’
‘Whom do I address as my escort and lord?’ asked the Lady Ludmilla with interest.
‘I am Thane Godfrid of the Long Hall, at your service.’ The man jumped from his horse, standing firm as a tree trunk. ‘In whose service are these?’ He looked around at the straggle of settlers and their burnt out hut.
‘They are in need of a lord protector, sire, one who will help them replace their stock, build their hut and restore this clearing.’ Ludmilla smiled sweetly and Osbald was not fooled. Here be mischief indeed. What was brewing here would upset Thane Guthrie’s apple cart. In one fell swoop the Lady Ludmilla found her young liege lord and poor Baggi and Beorn theirs as well.
Along with his gift of cows and five acres of land each, they must work every Moonday on their lord’s land, at least three days a week at harvest, reap him an acre of oats, pay the hearth penny and a tax for his church, and besides all that render him such other services as he bespoke. The price of being a freeman did not come cheap.
The settlers waved off Thane Godfrid’s rescue party without a word. For months they had seen not a soul. Since that day’s sun had risen and set it seemed the whole of Mercia had ridden over their ground and knocked down their door. Who could believe they’d had such company? Now it was back to weaving lattice branches and bracken fronds. Would their fortunes ever change?
Miracles
There were hundreds of tasks for the homesteaders to finish by the time of harvest moon. Sometimes Fritha looked out proudly at stooks of hay, sacks of beans and peas stored for winter porridge, oxen fattening with the swine on acorns and autumn nuts, hens scratting in her kale patch which was thick with cabbages, onions, leeks. She was bone weary though from all their efforts.
Baggi and Beorn worked late into the dusk light to make crofts, clear more land, gather brushwood for the women to bundle and store. They dug ditches and soakways, coppiced under the trees, gathered the hard dried beams brought on the cart for the winter dwelling. Together they raised them, arched over like the upturned hull of a boat, and sank them into stone-lined trenches before carefully weaving and filling the wattle walls.
The thane of the Long Hall sent his reeve to set terms and conditions of tenure, leasing them land and grazing rights, inspecting their work and telling them to be ready for service for their new thane’s harvest. Each day they set out early for Long Hall, over the ridge and down into the valley where his fields lay alongside a fine wooden church and the thatched hall dwellings, which made their own little hut seem very small. Here they joined other peasants to bring in grain, peas or barley, whatever was demanded of them. At dusk they tramped wearily home, bringing the women, starved of gossip, news of the courtship of the Lady Ludmilla by the young thane. The field men were fed with harvest loaves and ale, salted herrings and goat’s cheese, and often saved bits in their pouch for Hilde to pounce on. Sometimes they fell asleep as they sat by the fire.
The past season had sped by so fast; the visit of Lady Ludmilla, the raid and Fritha’s lost children seemed like a far off dream. Yet as she lay in the darkness, hearing the harvest gales rattle and moan through the forest, she often heard her little ones crying out: ‘Ma… am.’ Then she rose quickly, dreaming they were safe somewhere, just waiting for her to collect them and she must run through the storm of whirling leaves to seize them in her arms. But they always disappeared into the mist. She would waken feeling sick and shaky. One morning the sickness overwhelmed her so fiercely that she swooned with dizziness. Fritha knew then her prayers were answered at last. This was perhaps a sign of life, not death.
By Martinmass she was sure that there was a child growing in her belly which was firm and round, a child that squirmed and kicked, making her back ache, her breasts swell and itch more than usual. It was difficult to reckon when it would be born. Please Gods, make it in the spring when food would grow again and the hens lay eggs. Fritha feared the long darkness of winter. Would they survive the cold and wetness of this damp ridge? Had they cut enough kindling for the hearth? Would her pot herbs last out?
The women took to wandering through the woodlands with the small babe, picking blackberries, beechnuts, crab apples, sloes. The last of the harebells nodded in the breeze and the scent of smoke tinged their nostrils with homesickness for the old settlement and their kin. This time last year nothing but excitement lay before them. But now was no time for regret for there was so much to gather. They had pannage and herbage of their part of the forest edge. Lull caught prickly hogs to bake in mud on the fire while Fritha checked barley sproutings for the ale-making and the hive where a swarm of bees safely captured from the treetops was settling in for the winter. She would sometimes smile with pride at all they had made from nothing.
By a rush light dipped in meat fat they spun wool and hairs and wove on the pegged loom, piecing together bits of cloth, fur and hide into warm bootees. There was no time for fancy colourings like the Lady Ludmilla’s red boots. All their cloth was dark and dull as ground oats.
But how Fritha longed for something to wear as red and as bold as the peony petals; as purple and soft as the harebell or the blackberry stains on her fingers. She had gathered more sacred herbs, dried them and shaken them on to a piece of cloth to store in a dry purse. Seeds were so precious, the promise of future growth, but she was sad that the summer flowers were over and the colours of autumn would soon disappear into a uniform brown. Tomorrow Lull must prepare their precious salt for the ox killing.
The pedlar man called for the last time this year with his knapsack of wares. Sadly there was nothing to spare for his coloured trinkets and threads but he brought
news of the great battle deeds of Queen Aethelflaeda, wondrous tales of her beating back the northmen again, and of how the fair Lady Ludmilla had begun to ignore old Thane Guthrie in favour of the knight of Long Hall.
The track was wider now and the lord’s knights rode past on their way to hunt; sometimes a holy man stopped for water at the well and gave them a blessing. As her baby swelled and grew, Fritha feared all was not well. They laughed at her hard belly which was always outlined by grime on her tunic. Lull was never as big as this. By now Hilde was crawling and would burn her fingers on the hot stones if not watched constantly. Lull became irritable and complained that the hut was too small, the soakways a danger for her bairn, tying a leather thong from her wrist to the babe so she could not wander far. Most of the time the child was tied safely to her back. The women did not find it easy to share the hearth chores but Fritha, usually the stronger of the two, found she often had to rest a while to get her breath, such was the effort of carrying this child.
Soon they were plunged into a harsh cold winter. How Fritha prayed to her well that the babe would stay warm and snug in her belly, until the days lengthened and the frost did not nip so hard on her toes and fingers. Sometimes she would dip them in warm pee to cure their itching. They heated the ale with hot stones and threw in herbs to warm the belly. She also dropped peony seeds into her own brew, along with dried wild raspberry leaves as her mother once did for a quick and safe birthing.
‘Have you got a calf in there?’ laughed Baggi, patting her bulge. ‘How will it get out?’
‘Same way as the others – with a lot of cursing and sweating,’ Fritha joked, trying to hide her fear. Sometimes she was afeared to sleep in case her belly burst like a ripe pod.
Lull and Fritha talked about the strangers who passed the homestead on their way from the Minster, a full day’s walk down into the misty swampy valley. The forest woodburners said it was a dismal grey place, little more than a few hovels beside the monks’ enclosure and the shrine of the Blessed Chad. Lull begged to make the journey but Beorn insisted they wait until the spring. She sulked with disappointment but perked up as the sun rose higher in the sky and the daylight hours drew out. Soon the snowflowers lit up the forest hollows with tiny green spears. When would all the other colours come back to Fritha’s well?
It was always called Fritha’s well. Fritha had found the source, tended the patch, nurtured the soil, and so far it had not failed them even on the iciest of days. No one ever dared speak openly of the terrible night of their coming or of the lost bairns whose bones had no burial. Whenever travellers stopped to take water, Fritha would take them aside quietly to ask if they had heard tell of babes lost in the woods and taken up by strangers. Heads would be shaken sadly and she would fall silent, shrinking into the shadows away from the others.
One day followed another in this way until one fateful morning when Fritha woke with a searing pain across her lower back. It came and went as she did her round of tasks.
This pain was not like her other birthings, squeezing and holding, but sharper, as if her insides were ripped by a rusty blade. It was all she could do finally to seek out Lull and crawl into the hut, to lie gasping until the bearing down began. She squatted and crouched over fresh bedding, trying not to scream and waste breath. It came in its own good time, slithering out, a purple girl child, tiny for the size of her mother. Frith bit the cord and saw to the rest with Lull hovering nervously by. She had gathered the babe to her breast when another sharp searing pain forced her down again to drop the afterbirth. There was a rush of blood and another tiny creature fought its way out of her, lying red and silent before them.
Lull took one look and screamed in horror. ‘Two bairns in one go! She’s bewitched…’ She ran to call the men folk to witness this strange event.
Fritha stared down at the little creature struggling for life, so tiny, so perfect in form, face screwed up in rage though the sound of its crying was weak and pitiful. Her heart was filled with love for them; one lusty, kicking and strong, the other whimpering like a puppy, struggling to survive. She hardly dared touch the boy child. Then came another afterbirth, thinner and not so rich as the first. These she would bake and eat for herself, to strengthen her milk. Twin bairns, double seed.
The spirit of the well had looked kindly upon her after all, answered the prayer cloths waving in the branches. Her seed was doubled. She found the tears running down her cheeks; tears of love, relief and thanks. Baggi stood in the doorway breathless, his brow furrowed. Lull pushed inside, pointing.
‘Look! I told you… take them away, both of them.’ She made to snatch the weakest babe but Fritha warded her off.
‘Don’t you touch them, they’re mine! Help me wrap them tight in swaddles.’
‘I’m not swaddling them. ’Tis witchcraft or worse. ’Tis against nature.’ Lull turned to the men for support.
‘Lull! How could you say such gubbins? The Gods have given me back what was lost… See! One of each for Wyn and Ran.’ Fritha was feeling unexpectedly strong and full of power.
‘Put them by… or at least put the runt away. One must go, sown in wickedness and mischief.’
‘What are you on about?’ asked Baggi, puzzled by the fuss at first.
‘She has taken your seed and his to do this.’ Lull’s finger stabbed at her husband accusingly. ‘How else do you get two? How could you take my man, Fritha? Wasn’t one enough?’
‘Lull, you’re moonstruck! Tell her, Baggi… tell her, Beorn. I’ve shamed no one. ’Twas the spirit of the well who answered my pleas… returned to me what was snatched away. Wyn and Ran back with me again. Tell her, Baggi.’
Fritha held out her babes to him. The man hung back, knowing this to be a cause of shame whispered about in his family far back. Twins were bad news, a sign that magic was afoot. One must always be put away so the other could thrive. A woman could not feed two. It was against nature. Had his woman been unfaithful behind his back, crept to Beorn in the darkness or the woods?
Anger and suspicion rose in his breast and Fritha, seeing his scowl, held on to the babes tightly. ‘Don’t you look at me like that! As the High God of Heaven is my witness, Beorn owes you no wergeld, no compensation. These are mine and yourn, both of them. I prayed for double seed for all our crops a while back before the raiders came…
‘You all laughed at my charms and spellings but I prayed to the water spirit for double seed and we’ve been given it. Why should a woman not give birth to twine? We have two breasts or had you not noticed? And these will soon be full of milk.’ Fritha pleaded but her man was not sure.
‘You’ve allus been off your head, woman. Two bairns means only one thing. Two fathers.’ Baggi turned to his brother. ‘A curse on you for bringing shame to us! I demand wergeld – money or blood.’ He pushed Beorn hard and stormed out of the hut.
‘Hang on there, brother, don’t you go a-cursing of me for summat I never did! I’ve never looked at the track she were on, that crazy wife of yourn. Not once, not ever… do you hear me? I have my own bairn, why should I want of yourn?’
‘That’s right, you tell them,’ screamed Fritha, stunned by the accusations flying about like birds trapped in a hut.
‘Not so fast, Beorn. She witched you, that’s what. She was so desperate for seed that she got you befuddled with ale so you never saw which woman you were lying with…’ Lull was not going to stop the fight now.
‘When have we ever brewed ale strong enough to make us legless? It’s so watered down as to be only child’s beer. You’ve been careful to make our barley sprouts last through, so don’t give me that one or you’ll feel my fist in your lughole!’
‘LEAVE ME BE!’ shouted the mother as she fixed the babes to her swollen breasts. ‘See, they can feed. Over my dead body will you take one away. There’s been no shaming. Go and calm down Baggi before it comes to a fight. There’ve been twoers before in your kin, he knows it.’
‘Aye, and one was left out for the wolves to devour, to
ward the evil from the camp,’ said Lull. ‘Keep the girl and I’ll take the runt out into the wildwood and we’ll speak no more of this matter.’ She tried again to snatch up the smaller babe who was struggling to catch hold of his mother’s teat.
‘Don’t you dare! This forest has had two of my flesh, it’s not going to feast on a third. You’re wrong, Lull. It’s you who have heard too many old wifies’ tales. We’ve been blessed, not cursed. Let the high heavenly sword strike me down dead if I lie.’ Fritha tore at her breast. ‘You’ll have to kill me first before I yield up a child to you.’
‘I’ll take no more of your lies!’ her sister-in-law screamed. ‘Now look what you’ve done to us all. I’m not staying here a moment longer.’
She stormed out into the darkness, Hilde crying, the babies tugging harder now.
Fritha was so angry she screamed, ‘Get out of this hut then, all of you! I’ll manage on me own. Get yourself another one and don’t darken this door again, any of you… and that goes for you, Bagwulf, if you believed any of them lies.’
Thus began the great chill at Fritha’s well which split the clearing into two parts and lasted many moons. Beorn and Lull gathered their belongings and a few bits and pieces which were not theirs for good measure. They made another hut far afield at the bottom of the clearing, out of sight, close to another thin stream. Baggi stayed behind, unsure and saddened. But he had no time to build himself another dwelling. For many weeks, despite sharing their shelter, he never looked once in the direction of his bairns. Fritha still prepared food which was divided up between the two groups and eaten in silence. An icy chill reigned where once was warmth and laughter.
