“Concordia, go below deck before you are seen,” Umar said as he came upon the docks.
Concordia did as she was bid while the men moored the boat. She heard them jumping onto the wooden planks and walking away, their footsteps fading as they approached the shoreline. She sat on the bed, alone with her thoughts, once again, as she stared at the ladder in the dim light. She prayed she would be permitted to rest in the village, having had her full of living at sea. She no longer had a desire to visit the many kingdoms she had studied; in fact, she no longer had the desire to travel anywhere, not even to her Uncle Sidonius’ villa in Exeter. She was distracted by the sound of voices nearby, holding her breath when someone came onboard. The fine hairs on her arms prickled when the door opened, but she overcame her fear quickly when she recognized Brantson upon the ladder.
“Umar’s Aunt Hilary still lives, and she remembers him!” Brantson told her. “Come, we have been given rooms above the alehouse. I would have you rest before the evening meal.”
“Praise God,” Concordia replied, embracing Brantson firmly before she went above deck.
Brantson helped his wife off the vessel and was surprised to find Umar’s cousin Celsa waiting nearby.
“I am to show you the way,” Celsa smiled as she began walking. “My father returns soon. This day they did not venture very far...there are many storms this time of year. Is there anything you fancy? I can arrange a bath if you...”
“Could you?” Concordia interrupted. “I would be forever in your debt if I could bathe. It has been such a long journey, and if my clothing could be washed?”
“Easily, my lady,” Celsa replied. “Perhaps your husband and his servant might also bathe?”
“We would indeed.” Brantson grinned.
“I will send Umar for you and your servant,” Celsa told Brantson. “My lady, please come with me.”
Concordia squeezed Brantson’s hand, stood on her toes and kissed his cheek before following Celsa down the winding street. She waved at the children tending to the vegetables, and was quite surprised when a child trust a flower into her hand.
“This is lovely,” Concordia said, smelling the fragrant purple flower while the little girl disappeared behind the buildings.
Concordia was perplexed by the child’s behavior, but then she was not from these lands and her presence must have piqued the little girl’s curiosity. She found it tiring to walk up the slight hill, unaware that Celsa’s dwelling was near the top. She was breathing heavily by the time she reached the door, accepting Celsa’s proffered arm willingly, and was grateful to be led inside the cool room. She sat on the bench while Celsa conversed with her mother, smiling shyly when she was led to an outer room where a large barrel had been placed.
Celsa instructed Concordia to remove her clothing and sit in the tub, which would soon be filled with warm water. Concordia did as she was bid, covering her swollen belly with her hands as she waited for the serving women with their buckets of water. She rested against the wood, closing her eyes when the soothing water was poured gently over her. Celsa added flower petals to the bath and set aromatic plants ablaze in the hearth, the sweet smelling smoke filling the room.
“I will return shortly,” Celsa told Concordia as she picked up her clothing and walked out the door.
Concordia had forgotten how much she enjoyed bathing. She ran her fingers through the water and smiled when the flower petals drifted towards her. The warm water was soothing, inspiring pleasant thoughts as she drifted off to sleep.
Celsa entered the room quietly, placing the cloths and clothing upon the bench before awakening the Saxon woman. Concordia did not argue when Celsa tended to her every need. For one brief moment, Concordia was at peace, her body and soul placated by the respite. She loved the feel of soft cloth and was delighted to learn that her dress had been made in Britannia.
“How did you come by this?” Concordia asked, holding the fabric in her hand.
“Many seafarers visit our village,” Celsa replied as Concordia donned her clothing. “It suits you, my lady.”
“Call me Concordia.”
“Your husband and his servant no longer smell, and neither does my cousin,” Celsa grinned. “They are awaiting us in our leader’s quarters. There will be feasting this night.”
Concordia was in high spirits as she accompanied Celsa to the leader’s dwelling, and her eyes were sparkling when she took her place beside Brantson who noticed her changed demeanor.
“You are lovely,” Brantson whispered. “I cannot wait until we are alone.”
“Your thoughts are most wicked,” Concordia murmured, feeling the warmth of her reddened face.
“Would you deny your husband?”
“I cannot deny you anything,” Concordia said while slipping her arm through his. “I just wish we were home.”
“Soon, my love,” Brantson replied reassuringly, “but for now we must enjoy this feast.”
Brantson raised his cup to his host, thanking the leader for his hospitality. The men finished their drink in one gulp, pounded their cups on the table while awaiting more wine. Serving women hovered around the lengthy table while children carried in platters filled with a variety of fish. There was steamed carp and broiled pike, and garden vegetables, wild berries and fruit, and freshly-baked bread, but the pièce de résistance was a cauldron filled with beef stew.
Concordia could hardly contain her excitement when she was given a bowl filled with the meaty morsels. She breathed in the aroma before eating her favorite meal, and once she emptied the bowl, she requested it be filled again. She found it hard to believe that she was so hungry, but then it had been weeks since she had had a customary meal.
In between mouthfuls, Concordia conversed with Umar’s aunt. She listened intently when Aunt Hilary spoke of her life in the village, and of her plans to send Celsa to a nunnery if she was not promised by the time she came of age. Concordia glanced at Celsa who was sitting with her friends at the end of the table while wondering if she would accept her fate without question. She glanced at Bryce and Umar who were arguing amicably while speculating on the topic of their disagreement.
The evening passed quickly and Concordia soon found herself alone with her husband, in a bed covered with a cotton cloth. They were fully clothed when they laid upon the covered straw and rested their heads upon feathered pillows. Moonbeams filtered through the open window and a gentle sea breeze cooled the room. She was content to remain in Brantson’s arms until she fell asleep, but Brantson did not want to sleep, he wanted to speak with her, which made her uneasy. She knew he wanted answers to the questions he had yet to ask, and he deserved to hear the truth, no matter how painful, yet she could not bring herself to cause him further pain. She remembered his stoic demeanor whenever she had spoken of Thayer, but his eyes had depicted his true feelings, and she could not bear to rekindle his suffering.
When Brantson placed his hand on her swollen belly, she did not shy away from his touch, yet she could only surmise his thoughts, fearing to learn his true feelings. Tears swelled when the child she carried moved, causing Brantson to pull away his hand.
“I am not worthy of your love,” Concordia said tearfully as she replaced Brantson’s hand upon her belly. “But I cannot give up my son.”
“I would never ask that of you,” Brantson whispered. “Have you forgotten I gave you my word to acknowledge the child?
“I have not forgotten, but what if he favors his father? I could not bear the whispers.”
“You worry overmuch,” Brantson replied kindly, “but I need to know if Thayer is truly the father.”
“I do not understand,” Concordia said, her voice barely audible.
“I know of the cave, and the pirate leader...I believe he is called Chad. What happened once you set out for Thayer’s villa? It was a long journey with a licentious man. Bryce might have been wounded, but he was not blind.”
“I do not wish to cause you any more pain,” Concordia sobbed into hi
s chest.
“I must be able to trust you, Concordia. You need to tell me the truth, no matter how painful.”
Brantson waited patiently for Concordia to speak. He stroked her hair and let her weep, his silence deafening in the still night.
“Thayer did take me by force, but it was just the one night. He believed you sired the child I carry.”
Concordia held her breath, waiting for Brantson’s anger to surface. She saw his taunt facial muscles twitching and felt his body stiffen, yet he remained silent. She sat upon her elbow, looking at her husband through watery eyes, mustering her courage to confess her grave sin.
“We came upon an abandoned grape farmer’s dwelling on our last night of our journey. I was alone in the room...the men slept outside...but the door did not lock. I fell asleep, but was awakened when Chad pulled away the cloth cover. I tried to fight him,” Concordia lied, “but he was too strong...the child was conceived that night. If you cannot forgive me, I will go willingly to a nunnery. The shame is mine, not yours.”
“You are not at fault,” Brantson told her while wiping away her tears. “I failed to protect you and you have suffered dearly because of it. We shall speak of this no more...the son you carry is mine.”
Chapter Twenty Eight
Concordia was sorry to be leaving the quaint fishing village, dreading the lengthy time at sea. She had grown fond of Celsa and Aunt Hilary, and even Uncle Lothar, during their brief stay, but she promised to send letters once she returned home. Two days respite was all they dare take, fearing the unpredictable storms. It was still necessary to sail at night and rest during the day since the danger remained.
Bryce, Brantson and Concordia sat at the table in Lothar’s main room, drinking French wine and eating broiled meat. They would not feast this well until they were once again upon Britannia’s shores, but they would not go hungry during the journey because of Uncle Lothar’s generosity. Two sacks had been filled with provisions and a barrel filled with water had been procured.
Celsa was exceptionally quiet during the meal, a fact that Concordia did not fail to notice. She tried to engage Celsa in conversation, but Umar’s cousin either nodded her head or mumbled beneath her breath. The child seemed more reticent when the hour grew late, and Concordia knew Celsa did not wish to see her leave. Concordia regretted not having a gift to give the child, but then she remembered the Cross that Brantson wore beneath his tunic. She approached her husband at the end of the meal, hoping he would be willing to part with the gift she had given him so long ago.
“You may replace this upon our return,” Brantson smiled while removing the silver Cross and placing it in her hand.
“I love you,” Concordia whispered.
While the men brought the provisions to the fishing vessel, Concordia searched for Celsa since she was no longer in the room. She found the child sitting beneath the stars, her head resting upon her knees, her body trembling with her silent tears. Concordia sat beside her, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head.
“Would you be willing to visit Britannia...perhaps in a year?” Concordia asked
“I would come now!” Celsa said hopefully.
“I fear that is not possible, but I would think your father would be agreeable once I am settled, and your mother would worry overmuch if you left with us this night. You know the danger is great, or have you forgotten?”
“I have not forgotten, but you will soon forget me,” Celsa wept.
“I will never forget you nor the wonderful days spent in this village, and I will write, you have my word...and I have something for you,” Concordia said, placing the Cross about Celsa’s neck.
Celsa held the silver Cross in her hand, thanking Concordia between sobs, embracing her firmly when Concordia rose to leave.
“Will you walk with me to the harbor?”
“I cannot...the pain would be too great,” Celsa replied before she ran up the hill, putting as much distance between herself and the fishing boat that she could muster in the darkness.
Concordia sighed as she walked away, but she was grateful to find Aunt Hilary waiting to escort her to the dock.
“I told Celsa she is welcome to visit me in Britannia, perhaps next year, if you and Uncle Lothar are in agreement. I would speak to King Alfred about placing her in the court school if you wish, but we can discuss this further in our letters.”
“The king’s school, my lady...there are no words...if that is, indeed, possible,” Aunt Hilary told her. “I know my husband would agree...you are most kind, my lady.”
“You are most kind for giving us succor,” Concordia replied, “and I consider you my aunt, if I am not being impertinent.”
“Concordia, you will be truly missed, but I hope one day our paths will cross again.”
“I pray that is so,” Concordia whispered as they approached the boat.
Concordia embraced Aunt Hilary and Uncle Lothar, keeping her tears at bay as she boarded the fishing vessel. She stood at the rail, crying silently, as Brantson, Bryce and Umar rowed the boat out to sea. She did not join her husband on the oar bench until the coastline disappeared from her view. She grasped the oar, pulling back firmly, taking care not to lose her balance. She needed to be distracted, not trusting her feelings, and she needed to become weary so she could rest with the men. She dared not be alone with her thoughts, knowing she could not escape the truth, and she needed desperately to forget.
As the orange and red hues of first light brightened the night sky, the fishing vessel sought shelter in one of the many sea caves that lined the coastal shores. Each day it was the same; they would rest until they were awaken by hunger, and after having eaten their fill, rowed out to sea once the sun had set. The shipping vessel glided effortlessly through the gentle waves, aided by mild winds beneath a cloudless sky. They thanked God for keeping the storms at bay during their journey, falling on their knees in praise when Britannia’s coastline loomed over the horizon.
“We are still days away from Wareham,” Bryce told Umar. “It is best to rest during the day and sail at night.”
“Bryce is right. We have been away many months,” Brantson interjected, “and I am sure the Norsemen remain a threat.”
Umar nodded, giving Bryce the steering oar since he did not know the land. Concordia used what was left of her strength to help with the rowing, paying no heed to Brantson’s protest. She bit her lip when her arms ached, forcing herself to sustain the rhythmic strokes that propelled the boat swiftly through the waves. She was relieved when she saw the rocky cliffs and did not argue when Brantson told her to go below deck. She climbed down the ladder slowly, taking care not to trip over her clothing. Her unborn child moved when she laid upon the bed, and her thoughts quickly turned to Chad. Tears dripped down the corner of her eyes as she rested her hands upon her swollen belly.
“Brantson must never know the truth,” Concordia thought as she drifted off to sleep.
Concordia found herself in Brantson’s arms when she awakened. She remained still, not wishing to disturb his rest as she listened to the comforting sound of the waves splashing against the side of the boat. She wondered how much time had past, and if it would soon be night, yet she did not have a choice. She whispered Brantson’s name softly as she sat up, rubbing his hand against her face and kissing the tip of his fingers, and smiling when he stirred.
“Rest, I will await you on deck,” Concordia told him as she started to rise, but he pulled her towards him.
“We must speak while there is still time,” Brantson said gravely as he sat upon his elbows.
“What is so pressing that you would frighten me?”
“There is nothing to fear, but there is something I would ask. I do not want anyone to know that you were defiled. It will be made known that you conceived our son before the attack, and that you were spared being violated because you wore Thayer’s necklace. You will tell anyone who asks that Thayer never possessed you because you had befriended him when he was at King Al
fred’s court, and you need not worry about Bryce, he will never betray us.”
“I am too ashamed to admit the truth,” Concordia stammered.
“I mean it, Concordia. I know you would never tell your father, or Elizabeth, but I do not want you to confide in your brother. Understood?”
Concordia nodded as Brantson helped her off the bed. She filled a bowl with stale bread and salted fish that her husband carried above deck where he found Bryce and Umar waiting patiently to satisfy their hunger.
“We should reach Wareham in two days time,” Brantson said between mouthfuls.
“Provided we do not come upon any dragonships,” Bryce interjected.
“The Norsemen have not been this far west since my father fought in the sea battle,” Concordia reminded the men.
“I prefer not to take risks,” Brantson replied. “We sail once it is dark.”
Concordia kept her thoughts to herself as she finished her sparse meal. She took her place dutifully on the oar bench, waiting for Brantson to join her. She rowed through the night, and slept during the day, and found herself rowing once again beneath the star-studded sky. But this night was different, because this was the last night they would be sailing the coastal waters. She watched the sky intently, looking for orange and red colors brightening the horizon, hiding her disappointment because it was not yet time.
Brantson shouted when he noticed Wareham’s massive Keep atop the rocky cliff just as the early morning sun warmed the earth. Concordia could not believe her eyes as she looked upon the fortress that had been her home since she was a child. She wept joyful tears, thanking God for their safe deliverance as the fishing vessel inched its way towards the sandy beach. She thought she saw her father standing atop the tower, and knew in her heart that he had never given up hope. She stood up, running to the rail and waving excitedly, hoping her father might see her, and when she heard the chiming bells, she knew their little boat had been seen.
The Briton and the Dane: Concordia Page 19
