The Oath

by A. M. Linden

  This last was Caelym’s one slip, because it brought Annwr back to the issue at hand.

  “I have two real daughters, Caelym, both of them as dear to me as your two sons are to you, so first you tell me how you would choose between Arddwn and Lliem; then you may tell me how I am to choose between Aleswina and Cyri!”

  If Aleswina breathed at all during Caelym’s tirade, she was not aware of it, only of a growing agony in her chest that felt at first as if her lungs were on fire. Then the burning pain died away, leaving an empty, aching desolation behind. But then, into that hollow well of hurt, poured a sudden, soothing balm—Anna had two daughters, and she was one of them, no matter what Caelym said!

  Caelym and Annwr continued to bicker back and forth until it was nearly noon, finally agreeing only that they were both tired and would settle the matter—by which Caelym meant Annwr would agree to leave Aleswina in the first convent they found, while Annwr meant Caelym would agree to take her along with them—after they got some sleep.

  Chapter 29

  Leave to Speak

  Caelym woke late in the day. He got up, stretched, and took a necessary trip into the bushes. From where he stood, he could see the bright rays of the afternoon sun dancing on the river. Behind him, he could hear Annwr clanking pots and fussing over Aleswina. Instead of returning to camp, he made his way down to the lower end of the island to get the boat out of its hiding place and ready to launch.

  He’d dragged the boat to the water’s edge and was setting the oars into their fittings when he heard Annwr scream his name.

  Saxons! It had to be! The shrillness and intensity of her outcry could only mean that they were under attack. He drew his knife and dashed back towards their camp, cursing himself for leaving the women unguarded. When he reached the edge of the clearing, he ducked behind a tree and stood still, gasping and listening.

  While Annwr’s shrill cries continued without let-up, he could hear nothing else—no hounds howling or men shouting. He peered cautiously out around the trunk, thinking to see how many enemies he’d be facing before he decided whether to charge into battle against them or use some stratagem to draw them off, giving Annwr and Aleswina a chance to escape.

  The blanket walls of the makeshift shelter were taken down and neatly folded next to a stack of pots and bowls, all washed, dried and ready to be packed. The only Saxon in sight was Aleswina, who was sitting on a log and waving her hands in the air while Annwr stood next to her, screeching his name.

  He eased his way out from behind the tree, still watching for an ambush and staying half-concealed in the underbrush, and called out softly in Celt, “I am here. What is it you would be wanting of me?”

  “I want you tell Aleswina that she may speak!”

  For a long moment, Caelym stood in stunned disbelief. Then he raised his voice to a pitch to that matched Annwr’s. “You called me back here, sounding like some banshee being eaten alive by goblins, and I have come running thinking I must face a dozen foul Saxons with only my knife, and this just to tell me to tell this stupid coward to speak! It is nothing to me whether she speaks or not! If she cannot decide that for herself, then you may tell her—just as you tell her whether she ought to breathe or not!”

  Instead of raising her voice further, Annwr lowered it ominously. “Oh, Caelym, it is something to you whether she speaks—as it was you that told her she could not!”

  “I never—”

  “When you first put her into the boat; you told her that she was not to speak again until you said so.” Here she paused and changed to the syrupy sweet voice she reserved for her miserable little Saxon princess. “It’s all right, Dear Heart, I’m telling him.”

  The girl, who had now stopped flapping her hands, was pointing at him.

  Annwr reverted to the growl she reserved for Caelym. “And now you will tell her that she may speak, or she will go to her grave never saying any word ever again!”

  Caelym stood rubbing his chin as the recollection came to him—he had said something like that, only he had not known whether the girl even heard him and never thought about it again after they were past the enemy village. For another moment, he toyed with the possibility that he might turn the blame for this away from himself and back on Aleswina for carrying on so about it . . . but, of course, there was no hope of persuading Annwr to see things from his side with Aleswina fluttering her hands and looking pitiful.

  Bracing himself, he left the cover of the bushes and crossed over to them, telling Annwr that he’d take care of it and adding that she could go on with her packing and leave this to him.

  Annwr backed off a few paces and stood watching him, her hands on her hips and her face set in a grim frown.

  Feeling her eyes boring into his back, Caelym squatted in front of Aleswina, whose eyes widened in fear as if he, the kindest and most forbearing of men, were some ogre about to eat her alive. If, however, there was one thing in which Caelym had complete confidence, it was in his powers of charm. He reverted to English and switched into the voice he might use for comforting a small child. “Now, Little Sister, I will be giving you my leave to speak again, but before I do that, I have the need to speak myself. First, I would thank you from my heart for the honor that you have done me in carefully keeping my command. Next, I must be saying how I am sorry for keeping you silent for so long, when I only meant that you should be quiet while we passed through the village, and after that I forgot that having given you this command, I must then say when it was finished. Then we must think together about how you might remind me of this when you are forbidden to speak in words and the lovely waving of your hands does not mean more to me than the fluttering of a butterfly in the breeze.”

  Here Caelym paused and gave Aleswina a deeply concerned look, as though expecting some enlightenment from her. When it did not come and she only put her hands behind her back and looked over her shoulder at Annwr, he said in a firmer voice, “No! You must look at me, for I am the one who wronged you, and it is I whom you must boldly challenge to make it right!”

  At this, Aleswina did look at Caelym, only with an expression that was less that of a bold challenger than of a panic-stricken mouse looking into the face of a hungry cat.

  “That will not do! Seeing such a meek look as this, I should have no cause to pay attention. You must lower your eyebrows and put out your lower lip so that there can be no mistaking your displeasure with me.”

  To illustrate his point, Caelym demonstrated such a remarkably childish frown that, in spite of her misery, Aleswina couldn’t stop a quivering smile. Caelym did not smile back.

  “No, Little Sister, you must not be smiling at me! If I am to see the error of my ways, you must put your lip out and make your face as I have showed you.”

  Had Aleswina looked at Annwr, she would have had an exceptionally good model of a frowning face. As it was, she did her best to rearrange her apprehensive expression into a pout. The result was feeble and wavering; still, Caelym was encouraged.

  “Ah, that is good! And now I see you have something to tell me, you may use your hands to do so, even as you used them to speak with Annwr.”

  Aleswina bit her lip, looked down at her hands, up at Caelym, and back at her hands.

  Her right hand moved as if it had a mind of its own—rising up and pointing from his mouth to hers. Then her left hand joined the right, cupping into the shape of a boat, and together they waved again up and down before coming apart, at which point the left touched her mouth and the right landed lightly on his.

  “Ah, I understand!” Caelym exclaimed in apparent surprise and delight, and repeated Aleswina’s gestures, reciting along with them, “I told you not to speak before we got into the boat and came down the river, and now I must say that you can!” With that, he gave her a warm and approving smile, grandly granted her permission to speak, and swept on into a superb apology that included an offer to endure whatever wrathful curses she might lay on him.

  Unable to think of a single curs
e (and having led an exceptionally sheltered life, Aleswina actually wasn’t even sure what a curse was besides something that an evil person would say to a good one), she stammered, “Thank you for letting me speak again,” and darted away to cower behind Annwr.

  Suppressing a smug smile, Caelym hefted his pack, swung it over his shoulder, and strode back through the trees and down to the boat. Reaching the shore minutes before the two women did, he had time to savor the satisfaction of having proven his curative powers as he stood by the boat, waiting for them to catch up with him.

  The sun was warm on his face. A quickening breeze ruffled his hair. The touch of Aleswina’s fingers lingered on his lips—somehow reminiscent of the caress that was Feywn’s invitation to follow her to her bedchambers—and, for an odd moment, he found himself wondering just what it was about the sallow-faced girl that drew the Saxon king to pursue her with such passion.

  It was at that exact moment that Annwr and Aleswina emerged from the woods. Aleswina, for once, wasn’t stumbling along behind Annwr but was walking gaily, almost skipping, at her side. Seeing her from a distance, her hair loose and glowing golden in the afternoon light, Caelym found himself thinking back to how Aleswina’s soaking shift had clung to her as he’d lifted her into the boat, revealing (though he hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time) that she had all the enticing attributes of a grown woman.

  Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Annwr spoke sharply to him in Celt. “Caelym, that oath I had you swear to serve Aleswina as if she were The Goddess—I did not know then that you were consort to Feywn, and I never meant—”

  Caelym could not resist the opportunity being offered to him. He let his eyes glide appraisingly from Aleswina’s face down to her ankles and up again, as he said, “Now, Annwr, you know that an oath, once sworn, cannot be taken back—” Hearing the furious intake of Annwr’s next breath, he realized he’d pushed his joke far enough and hurried on before she could start screeching again—“but you need not worry, for I would give such service only on request, and I’m thinking it most unlikely that this little mouse will be asking that I, or any other man, make love to her before the fish in the ocean rise up and fly to the moon.”

  Annwr was still glaring at Caelym and so she did not see what he saw—that a sudden red flush brightened Aleswina’s pale cheeks and that she turned her head to hide it.

  Except for an almost imperceptible hardening around his mouth and eyes, Caelym’s expression didn’t change as he recalled his own prophetic warning—She may not care about being Christian or Saxon, but that is what she is! And someday she will care, and she will look at you and see you are her enemy, and she will forget all you have done for her, and she will betray you and all those you hold dear—and then numbered off, one by one, each of the vital secrets he had given away believing the girl’s act that she only spoke English.

  Chapter 30

  Confessions

  Hearing Caelym’s mockery burst Aleswina’s bubble of happiness at knowing Annwr loved her as much as her real—no, her other daughter.

  As the only deity she knew anything about was Jesus—who, as best she understood it, got to be a god by being born to a virgin, being celibate himself, and dying on the cross—she did not understand what making an oath to a goddess had to do with the kind of love Caelym was talking about. Still, innocent and unworldly though she was, she couldn’t miss his lewd innuendo. Well, she didn’t want any service from him, now or ever!

  Keeping her head down, she went to the front end of the boat and waited there, hoping Annwr would tell Caelym off for being rude.

  Caelym knew treachery when he saw it. Now he had to convince Annwr. He stepped nonchalantly over to her, took her pack, strode to the boat and handed it to Aleswina, saying, “Take this, if you will, my dearest heart, and put it under the boat’s front seat,” in Celt as casually as if he’d merely forgotten to switch back into speaking English.

  Aleswina took the pack and did as he asked. She glanced at Annwr, expecting her smile of approval, but instead saw her looking so shocked that Aleswina turned around to see what she’d done wrong with the bag.

  When Annwr found her voice again, she spoke in clear and careful English. “Aleswina, you cannot know Celt! You have not spoken it since you were a small child.”

  All the abbess’s admonitions about eavesdropping being a sign of unworthiness came back to Aleswina—redoubled by the fear that now Anna might not want her for a daughter. Desperate to make amends, she dropped to her knees. “I know that I have sinned, only there is no priest here, so how am I to confess or do penance?”

  “I told you not to take her! She’s been spying on us all along!” As Caelym was about to go on—reminding Annwr that he’d warned her over and over that no Christian, no Saxon, and especially no Christian Saxon was to be trusted—he realized what Aleswina had just said and instead broke off to demand, “What does she mean there is no priest here?” Suspecting some further affront, he added, “And what is this ‘sinned’ and ‘confess’ and ‘penance’?”

  Annwr didn’t approve of Aleswina’s eavesdropping, but neither did she like Caelym’s acting as though it were some heinous crime punishable by death. Unaware that this was exactly his point, she decided it was time to take him down a peg. Intentionally assuming the long-suffering but patient voice of one instructing the hopelessly ignorant, she sighed and said, “A ‘sin’ is something a Christian person does that is forbidden and that they feel sorry for afterwards, like touching their own male or female parts for pleasure or stealing money from the poor-box. When a Christian person has done something that is a sin, they must go to a Christian priest, who is trained and experienced in such matters, and confess that they have done that sin. Then the Christian priest judges how much of a sin it is and decides how much of a penance that the Christian person must do. Then the Christian person does that penance and promises not to do any more sins. Then the Christian priest forgives the Christian person and they are done.”

  Putting aside his astonishment at the idea that a person’s touching their own male or female parts for pleasure was something anyone would ever feel sorry for afterwards, Caelym stayed with the main point. Considering the possibilities of sin and repentance, he asked, “And is burning Druids a sin?”

  “Not if you are Christian, for it is not forbidden by their priests and so Christian people do not need to feel sorry for it afterwards.”

  Disappointed but not surprised, Caelym persisted, “So then the Christian person will not do any more sins after this confessing?”

  Favoring Caelym with a look that was half bemused and half resigned, Annwr sighed again. “Of course, the person will do more sins. As long as people are living, they will be doing something that is forbidden and they are sorry for.”

  It was only when Caelym stiffened his shoulders and dropped his hand towards his dagger that Annwr realized he was serious about Aleswina being a traitor.

  “Caelym,” she snapped. “Nothing she has or has not done releases you from your oath, so you just forget what you are thinking . . .”

  While Annwr and Caelym argued, Aleswina looked back and forth between them. She was used to kneeling in contrition, but the rocky bank was harder on her legs than the wooden floor of the confessional. When they seemed to have finished without saying whether she could get up, Aleswina looked to Annwr for some direction.

  Annwr, however, did not return her look or give her any encouragement but continued staring at Caelym.

  Not knowing what else to do, Aleswina looked up at Caelym, drawing in her lower lip.

  Caelym glared down at her, drumming his fingers on the handle of his dagger and thinking how the simple-minded girl looked more like five than twenty. It was beyond his understanding that her only worry could be whether she was “forgiven” when she should be looking for a way to escape or preparing to fight for her life, as any reasonable person in her place would be doing.

  Realizing that with he
r looking so innocently foolish, he couldn’t make himself kill her—even if Annwr released him from his oath, which she wasn’t about to do—Caelym began talking with the hope that he might come to some answer before he finished.

  “Dear Heart,” Caelym used Annwr’s pet name but made it more serious with the gravity of his tone, “you are among Druids now, and you are doing your sinning with Druids.” Pleased to see from the widening of her eyes and the raising of her eyebrows that he had the girl’s proper attention, he paused briefly for emphasis before intoning, “And as I am a Druid priest and am well trained and experienced in these matters, it is I who will be judging these sins and deciding what penance there must be.”

  Here Caelym paused again. Having had extensive experience in committing misdeeds himself, he knew the power of letting a guilty mind have time to consider its own judgment. When he felt that Aleswina had had enough time for self-rebuke, he continued, “First, I will say that it is no sin to speak Celt, which is the first and best of all languages, nor in your keeping silent, for that was what you had been told to do—but it is most certainly a sin to lie with your head on the lap of the one who raised you, feigning sleep and listening to words you knew were never intended for your ears!”

  Aleswina bowed her head and gripped her cross.

  “Now, as to the amount of this sin.” Caelym crossed his arms and assumed the somber expression befitting a high priest rendering his verdict. “I judge that this is a bigger sin than touching your own female parts for pleasure.”

  At this, Aleswina reddened to the tips of her ears.

  Caelym waited for her to look back up before he went on. “Yet I think it is not so bad a sin as taking coins from the poor. It is a medium sin. Do you agree with this?”