The Briton and the Dane: Timeline

by Mary Ann Bernal

  Initially, Gwyneth tired easily, which she found perplexing since she considered herself to be in excellent shape even though she had not seen the inside of a gym for well over a year. While the birthing had not been as she had imagined, she had assumed she would be able to handle any given task once she left the healer’s dwelling, but she had been mistaken.

  Since it would be many weeks, if not months, before Gwyneth’s body was fully healed, she spent as much time as possible with Erik and Richard. She was content, even though she was not able to suckle her sons. Matilda was a loving mother, and she would bring her infant daughter with her each day. Gwyneth wondered if her son, Erik, might eventually wed Matilda’s baby, Judith, yet she wondered why the name had been chosen. She immediately thought of Judith of Flanders who at age fourteen, was married to Alfred the Great’s aging father. She remembered this brief annotation in her history book because her professor had been quite theatrical while discussing scandalous affairs of the nobility through the modern era.

  “Aedre might know something,” Gwyneth thought.

  Her thoughts turned to Richard, and she was saddened by his disability. The plight of the blind had been thoroughly documented, even in the Holy Bible, and she became sick to her stomach. Louis Braille and Helen Keller would not be born for hundreds of years, how would Richard cope?

  “Richard is a child of God and is destined for the church,” Gwyneth’s inner voice said.

  Gwyneth shook her head, arguing with herself. She had given birth so that her offspring would multiply, thereby ensuring the survival of the line. There were no guarantees that Erik would sire a son who survived. What was that little saying? The heir and the spare. Richard was the spare, was he not? They had been born in the one country that had remained neutral during centuries of warfare.

  “Being neutral had not stopped men from enlisting in foreign armies,” her inner voice reminded her.

  “You are doing it again!” Gwyneth thought.

  Matilda gave Richard to Gwyneth once the child had eaten his fill. Erik was asleep, having been suckled first.

  “Poor little Richard,” Gwyneth whispered beneath her breath. “Always second.”

  “My lady?” Matilda asked.

  “It is nothing. You are welcome to spend the night if you wish. I know it is hard for you.”

  “You are most kind, but I must feed my husband and our lads.”

  “There is bread, and berries, and cheese from the midday meal. Take what is left; there is plenty.”

  Matilda placed Judith in the carrier, tightening the wrap about her body. She did as she was bid and collected the much needed food before taking her leave.

  Once Richard was asleep, Gwyneth placed him in his cradle and called for Anne who had been resting in the adjoining room. She kissed both children on the forehead and left them in their nursemaid’s care. As she descended the steps, she came upon her husband and Bryson speaking with Brother Ulrich.

  “What is it?” Gwyneth asked. “What has happened?

  “There has been talk ... alliances are being formed,” Erik told her. “We must return once Eckhard deems you fit for travel.”

  “I am fit.”

  “That is not for you to say. I will speak with him tomorrow.”

  Gwyneth nodded and left the men, stepping into the diminishing sunshine and walking aimlessly about the abbey grounds. The day she was hoping to avoid for as long as possible was rapidly approaching. It had not been a problem talking about leaving her son in the abbey while she carried the child, but now that she was a mother, she could not bear the thought. How could she say goodbye to her precious offspring, especially Richard who may not be able to fend for himself?

  “I cannot do this,” Gwyneth whispered tearfully.

  “You must,” said her inner voice.

  The chapel loomed before her, its door slightly ajar, beckoning her presence. Gwyneth stepped into the slightly darkened room, the flickering candles casting shadows upon the walls. Even though the room was empty, Gwyneth sensed a presence, and the small hairs on her arms stood up. The altar was bare, its marble facade pristine, its simple beauty breathtaking. She was awed by the realistic likeness of Christ upon the cross hanging on the wall. She noticed the Lord’s eyes were staring at her, and she stepped backward, tripping over a bench she had not seen.

  “Do not be afraid."

  “Who is there? Show yourself,” Gwyneth said.

  When no one answered, Gwyneth tried to rise, but she was unable to move. Taking deep breaths, she struggled to control her mounting fear.

  “You are in the Lord’s house, you dolt!” Gwyneth mumbled. “Nothing can harm you.”

  “Why do you doubt me?”

  “I do not understand. What do you want of me?”

  “Have I not provided for you?”

  “Oh, dear Lord, yes. Forgive my lack of faith.”

  Gwyneth finally found the courage to glance at the Lord’s face. He looked at her through loving eyes, or so she thought. It was the glistening flames casting its light upon the Lord’s face. An optical illusion. Whatever it was, whatever she saw and heard, or thought she saw and heard, was not evil. She would find the courage and the resolve to finish what had been started by forces other than herself. Whatever happened, she now knew that Erik’s line would survive just as she would survive. She would return to her century when the Lord deemed it so, and the heaviness finally left her. Her guilt at leaving her children behind was alleviated, and Gwyneth kissed the Lord’s feet before exiting the chapel and returning to her quarters.

  ***

  Visiting the healer was never something a person desired, of that Gwyneth was sure. It meant one was plagued by an ailment, an annoyance that interfered with daily life. In her case, she wished to delay the inevitable, wishing to spend more time with Erik and Richard. While having children cared for by nursemaids and sometimes in different households was a normal occurrence in the Middle Ages, the practice did not lessen the pain of separation. If any parent said so to the contrary, they were not telling the truth. The thought of never seeing her offspring again was hard to bear, yet it was a sacrifice she was willing to make to ensure their safety. Regrettably, she was having trouble sleeping and experienced occasional bouts of despair, and she feared she was suffering from post-partum depression, easily treatable with hormone therapy if she were home.

  The door to the sickrooms was open, but Gwyneth knocked before entering. Constance was collecting soiled linen while Eckhard was taking inventory of the medicinal herbs.

  “You look well, my lady,” Constance smiled approvingly. “Meet with me before you return to your quarters, there is something I would give you.”

  Gwyneth nodded as Constance left the room. She glanced at the empty beds and was happy they were alone since she wanted to be candid with the skilled healer. She walked towards the shelves, picking up an occasional bowl and examining its contents. She recognized St. John’s Wort and valerian, but she could not identify most herbs in the extensive collection.

  “You are fit to travel,” Eckhard told her, “but that is not why you are here, is it?”

  “I am not sure if you have a remedy for what ails me.”

  “Have you been despondent?”

  “Yes, in addition to other complaints.”

  “The Greek healer Hippocrates wrote of birthing-related illnesses suffered by new mothers,” Eckhard told her kindly. “While you might have lingering ailments from your ordeal, this infirmity will not last much longer. Leaving Erik and Richard to their fate is what truly ails you, and only time can heal that wound. There are remedies, which might prove helpful until your soul accepts what had to be done.”

  “Your insight is uncanny,” Gwyneth stammered. “Do whatever is needed. I will wait.”

  “Visit with my wife, I shall not be long.”

  While Eckhard prepared the mixtures, Gwyneth sought Constance in her quarters. The smell of baking bread permeated the room, reminding Gwyneth of Gadsbys behin
d Victoria Market in Nottingham, which sold thick and fluffy crumpets, toasted and served with fresh butter. It was a pity that traveling through Sherwood Forest would not be possible, given the distance. Really a shame, since she wondered if Robin Hood’s beloved Major Oak was still a sapling.

  “You have to stop doing this!” Gwyneth thought as Constance handed her a piece of vellum.

  Gwyneth unfolded the parchment, failing to hold back her tears as she gazed upon a likeness of Erik and Richard. The talented artist had captured the very essence of her sons, their round faces and curly locks.

  “I am at a loss for words, Constance, who did this?”

  “Me, my lady,” she replied shyly. “So you may remember; not that a mother ever forgets.”

  While Gwyneth admired the portrait, Eckhard walked into the room carrying a small basket, which contained a fortnight’s worth of powders. He placed the container upon the table, mumbled instructions to Gwyneth, and left.

  “Would you like me to accompany you to your quarters?”

  “I would like that,” Gwyneth whispered.

  Constance carried the medicinal herbs while Gwyneth kept looking at the drawing as they walked through the narrow streets, entering abbey grounds through the pilgrim’s gate. They came upon Bryson and Anne sitting beneath a massive oak while Erik and Richard slept upon a fur-lined cloth. When Gwyneth saw her husband standing at the door, she ran towards him while shouting.

  “You must see Constance’s gift!”

  Erik was also overwhelmed when he looked at the sketches, and he was at a loss for words. He embraced Constance and placed two coins in her hand.

  “I cannot take this, my lord.”

  “I insist,” Erik said. “Vellum is costly, and I would have you purchase more for your own use. It would please me if you could capture Erik and Richard’s likeness as they grow. Bryson will see you are compensated for your troubles.”

  “It would be an honor, my lord.”

  “Erik.”

  “Erik.” Constance replied shyly.

  “Would you partake of the evening meal with us?” Gwyneth asked.

  “I must return, but might we share a meal before you depart?”

  “Tomorrow, then?” Gwyneth said.

  “Tomorrow.”

  Constance looked at the sleeping children before taking her leave while Bryson and Anne admired her handiwork. Gwyneth watched the way Bryson looked at Anne and smiled when she noticed that the young lass did not shy away from his gaze. There would be plenty of time for a spark to ignite a flame, which would be fitting. Bryson should not be expected to give up the love of a woman, and to wed and have children, because of his promise. Gwyneth would rest easier knowing that Erik and Richard were in a loving home, and while calling Bryson and Anne mother and father might be painful for her to hear, at least the boys would be reared properly.

  “I would speak with you,” Erik told Gwyneth who looked at her husband with trepidation, not liking the tone of his voice.

  “What is it? What is wrong?”

  “Come inside, now!”

  Erik did not speak until he had shut the door.

  “I have had word from Wynstan. It is as we feared. Seymour serves the Norwegian king.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Preparations were well underway for Gwyneth and Erik’s departure on the following day. They would travel with a group of religious men returning to Rome. Since the holy brothers were under the protection of the Papal See, the passage would most probably be uneventful, the fear of eternal damnation weighing heavily upon the sinful should they attack the Lord’s chosen. Riding across the Frankish Empire might prove daunting, given the current political climate, which is why Erik chose to return to Britannia by a different route. It was not important that it would take longer; what mattered the extra days when one’s safety was assured? Erik believed Seymour’s spies would be watching not only Canterbury and the Port of Sandwich, but also the Port of Calais, which is why the Port of Brest was so desirable. Sailing from the coast of Brittany directly to the citadel at Wareham would never have been considered a viable option by Erik’s enemies, and that is why he opted for the lengthy crossing.

  Both Gwyneth and Erik had arisen early, feeding their babies goat’s milk, which would satisfy their hunger until Matilda arrived. While the practice had been to squeeze the milk from a rag, Gwyneth frowned upon the unsanitary method. She insisted that they use a clean spoon, gently dripping the warm liquid into Richard’s tiny mouth. Erik was at ease as he fed his namesake, winking at his wife when Richard managed to knock the utensil out of his mother’s hand.

  “Is something wrong?” Anne asked from the doorway.

  “Richard is no longer hungry,” Gwyneth replied, laughing as her son’s eyes grew heavy. “He will probably sleep until your mother arrives.”

  Anne took Richard, placing him in his cradle before fetching Erik’s heir. She was tearful when Gwyneth gave her the day’s instruction, controlling her rising emotions when she said “Godspeed.” She waited as Gwyneth and Erik descended the stairwell one last time before returning to the bedchamber where she cried.

  It had been decided that Erik and Gwyneth would sleep in the guest houses near the stables where the religious men leaving for Rome were given quarters for the one night. Bryson and Anne were both capable of feeding Erik and Richard in-between Matilda’s visits, which set Gwyneth’s mind at ease. New living arrangements were necessary, since Bryson and Anne could not remain together without the benefit of marriage. The solution had been simple - Brother Ulrich and Anne’s older brother, Geoffrey, became part of the household. Gwyneth had stifled a laugh upon hearing this news, wondering how shocked they would have been to witness the mores of her century where unwed couples living together was no longer considered scandalous.

  Bryson awaited Erik and Gwyneth near the large oak, sharpening his dagger. He swept the blade upon the whetstone in a steady, repetitive motion, keeping himself busy so as not to think. Both Erik and Bryson were aware they would never meet again in their lifetime. Neither man would reveal their true emotions, their stoic resolve dictating their actions. Up until this point, fate had been kind, enabling the friendship to prosper. Bryson had chosen a different path out of love for his overlord and friend. Even though Brother Ulrich was a man of God, he was still a stranger. Bryson was considered kin, the perfect guardian for Erik and Richard.

  A soft wind whipped Gwyneth’s loose tresses as she and Erik joined Bryson. She would take her leave without delay, agreeing to meet Erik at the healer’s dwelling, which gave her husband the privacy she felt he needed.

  “Bryson, there are no words,” Gwyneth whispered as she removed the Celtic cross that Erik’s mother once wore. “I bequeath this to Richard. Speak of me so he does not forget.”

  “My lady,” Bryson replied, “you are much loved and will never be forgotten.”

  Gwyneth stood on her toes, kissing Bryson on the cheek through glistening eyes as tears fell. She smiled at Erik and headed towards the village, glancing at the house where Erik and Richard slept. Erik’s decision to spend the night elsewhere was wise because she might have been tempted to stay. She forced herself to think of pleasant things, like the time she had been left behind at the ruins in Philippi because her professor had not realized she was still photographing the ancient Macedonian city. She had been admiring what was left of the forum when the rest of the team was boarding the bus. The driver had already reached the main road when someone shouted that she was missing. She had thought it was hilarious, but she was just twenty. Then again, she would not have appreciated one of her students disappearing amongst the remnants of the archeological digs she supervised. Reminiscing put her in better spirits as she arrived at Constance’s dwelling.

  While Erik would not have minded if Gwyneth had remained, he preferred having time alone with his trusted friend. But words were not needed as the two men sat beneath the tree. Erik removed his ring, placing the gold horseshoe in Bryson’s ha
nd.

  “My ancestor wore this ring that I now bestow upon my first born. He must do the same in turn with his first born and for all generations. Tell him why I had to leave, and tell him why you chose to remain behind, forgoing everything known to you to protect my seed. Your loyalty is well proven, and your service to me these many years has been exemplary. I can find no fault.”

  “Erik, you are my brother even though the same blood does not flow in our veins. I have taken this quest upon myself willingly so your descendants will fulfill a destiny set before the heavens were created. I do not know, nor do I understand, how this came to be, but I trust in our Lord, and that is sufficient.”

  “You shall want for nothing,” Erik replied. “Brother Ulrich knows of a Jewish family, money lenders, who will be of service. My gold and silver will be secreted out of the citadel upon my return. There will be nothing to plunder when my enemies are victorious.”

  “Do not admit defeat so readily, you are a proficient warrior.”

  “I do not fear death, nor must you fear my passing. We have done what was expected of us, and I am indebted to you, my brother.”

  “We will meet again in the next life,” Bryson said.

  “Be well,” Erik replied as he walked away.

  As Erik crossed the abbey grounds, he came upon Brother Ulrich who appeared to have been waiting for him. He nodded to the learned religious and was not surprised when the Benedictine monk accompanied him towards the village.

  “It is being said that your sons are destined for the church, which is why they are not leaving with you. It is because they had survived, that is the reason. If the Lord spared Gwyneth, and the boys lived, then they belong to Him. That is what is being said.”

  “I know there are questions for which there are no answers,” Erik said. “All of this is beyond my understanding. Your foreknowledge comes from above, so I do not doubt your purpose.”