“Well. You are here, and he is not, so something has happened.”
“He sent me away.”
“And you just went?”
That niggled. “It’s complicated.”
“Elucidate me.”
I decided to give her the abridged version. “There’s another woman.”
“Ah. And he loves her?”
“No.”
“Then what is the issue?”
“She has suddenly claimed a child as her own and informed Alrik that he is the father.”
She was silent for a time. “Curious.”
“Yes, I find the timing rather suspicious myself, but I have no proof that she is lying, and Alrik is an honorable man. According to him, he has had a noble upbringing and will acknowledge the child and stay in Wales. Much to the delight of her mother, no doubt.”
“You have no proof of the child’s parentage?”
“Other than the mother’s word. And Eadfrith’s.”
“What has Eadfrith to do with this?” Her body stiffened, like a mother bear ready to protect her cub.
“He was the one who supported Marared’s claim.”
“Marared?”
“Yes, she has claimed Branwen as her own and named Alrik as the father.”
“Really?” She looked to the door.
I raised my eyebrow. “Yes.”
“I see.” She tapped her finger against her thigh and then stood. “Come, let us get something to eat.”
I waved away the suggestion. “I’m not hungry.”
She stood in front of me, all matronly and austere. “You need sustenance. You have not eaten all day, and the road ahead for you will be long and challenging. You cannot do it on an empty stomach.” She stepped away from the bed. “Up you get.”
I didn’t have the energy to fight her, and satisfied, she led me into the hall. We took residence on an empty bench and accepted a plate of soft warm bread and cheese and a round of roasted venison wrapped in the folds of a deep green sea plant. The result was salty and a little bitter, but it was an intriguing combination with the robust flavor of the meat. Despite my initial reluctance, there was nothing left of my meal by the time a monk came to clear our places. The mead flowed liberally, and even with the rain lashing against the planks and the wind whistling through the thatch, the mood danced light and warm. Grateful, I found my own frustration softening. I swirled the golden liquid in my cup. Often the butlers watered down the drink to make it last longer, but the mead flowed sweet and strong, and I took my fill. My cheeks flushed, and I relaxed into a warm, languid glow.
Frances had wandered off after the meal to speak with some of the others, and Father Plegmund sat beside me. The pilgrims traveled in numerous groups. Father Plegmund had arrived a few days prior. En masse, we would leave together on the morrow for St. David’s, and from there, for the continent. The thought stabbed. Resolute, I pushed it away. With the generous cups of mead working their magic, I wasn’t interested in getting drawn back into melancholy. I craved the distraction.
“I was surprised to see you here,” he said. “I’d expected you would have been deep in the heart of the North Country by now.”
“Change of plans.”
He raised both eyebrows, but clearly took my tone as a means of diversion and changed tack. “Have you had a chance to look over the letters?”
Grateful for something other than Alrik to think about, I jumped in. “Yes. I tried one method. It didn’t work, but I thought of another possibility. I just haven’t had time to test my theory.”
“We have time now.”
“Here?” I looked about the room.
“Abbot Rys has a wonderful scriptorium. We can work there.”
I nodded and he led the way, stopping at the nun’s dormitory to retrieve my chest. The scriptorium was a long, narrow building, with several desks and stools arranged back to back. The central hearth divided the two rows. He relit the fire as I removed the letters, keeping the remainder of the box’s contents hidden. I set the stack of parchment on a desk. He grabbed a few tallow candles and pulled up a stool to sit beside me.
I unwrapped the bundle. “I learned of a code. Julius Caesar invented it. He used it to send messages to his army. It involved taking a letter, ‘a’ for example, and shifting it three places in the alphabet. The new letter became the start of the encrypted language. Every ‘a’ would become ‘d,’ ‘b’ became ‘e,’ and so on.” I illustrated the concept on a wax tablet, turning the word ‘dog’ into ‘grj.’
“Fascinating.” He craned his neck to get a better look. “Where did you learn this?”
“From Bertram.” I lied.
“Yes, I see. He was a wealth of knowledge.”
Muirgen had explained that one of my ancestors had fallen in love with a Roman legate. He was stationed in Gaul to push back the Celts. She was a Celtic priestess. I marveled once again at the similarities between Alrik and myself and wondered, not for the first time, if this theme would revisit my own children one day.
In time, the Roman told her many secrets, including the means of deciphering Caesar’s code. She passed that knowledge on to her daughters. It was a privilege known to only a chosen few. Until now. Osric, Demas, and several other men throughout England also held the key to this puzzle. While I might not have figured out the exact combination yet, I knew I was on the right path. I wavered on whether to show Plegmund my approach, but with others already aware of the cypher, his understanding could only help. In order to secure my freedom and a chance to return home, I would need his support.
“Caesar used Greek and Latin to scramble his messages. I assumed Osric used Latin to code his letters. I tried several combinations, working my way through the alphabet, shifting letters from one all the way up to twenty-three places. Nothing worked.”
Plegmund seemed to deflate.
“I was just about to try it again with English.”
“Brilliant.”
I opened one of the letters and pointed at a string of seven letters. “I will start by shifting each letter one through thirteen places. If you can work on the remainder, we can split the work between us and hopefully discover the meaning sooner.”
He leapt off his chair and grabbed another tablet. He stopped only a few times to seek clarification. A monk happened by to collect a satchel from one of the desks and offered to bring us refreshments while we worked. By the time Plegmund and I stopped our calculations, we had finished a small cask between us. My head swam with letters and mead, but I was no closer to figuring out the missive’s damnable secrets.
“Perhaps it is in another language.” Plegmund offered.
I shook my head. “While Osric and Demas may know more than Latin and English, I doubt the other noblemen would. It took a leap of faith assuming they would know the written English.”
“We have tried even shifts, could they be using a different rhythm?”
“If they were, it would be impossible to determine what that rhythm could be.”
His shoulders sagged. Mine drooped along with them.
The candles flickering in the constant draft tweaked my memory. “Unless there was a key to unlocking the rhythm.” I grabbed one of the letters and scanned the margins, holding them up to the light. “Here.”
He squinted, his nose almost touching the paper. “There are holes.”
“Exactly. Two pinpricks then a space, five pinpricks then another space, a grouping of ten, just one by itself, and a grouping of fourteen.” I grabbed the tablet. “If I use the rhythm and repeat the offset over and over again …” Words materialized in front of our eyes:
Meet me at Glastonbury on the ides of June. I have confirmed Halfdan’s support. All is in place.
I leapt off the chair and hugged Plegmund. “We’ve done it!” The stack of parchment shone like a beacon of hope.
“You are a wonder.”
“It was your idea.” Despite the late hour, I didn’t want to stop. “I’ll keep to this, if y
ou wish to make your way to your bed.”
“Nonsense. We are on the verge of a great discovery. I can’t desert the cause now.” His face glowed and his eyes twinkled in the light.
“If we find something to pin to Osric and Demas, can I count on your support at court? Will you stand beside me and bring these letters and their true meanings to the king’s attention?”
“You mean to return to England?”
“One day.”
He shook his head. “Despite what we find, I cannot condone your plan. You would be killed outright or worse. You would not be given an opportunity to state your charges.”
“That’s why I need your help.”
He shook his head. “I can present the letters and speak on your behalf. You have my word, but you cannot accompany me.”
“Would you permit me to keep the letters, then? I have a few more pathways to explore. I want the odds stacked in my favor. I can reach out to you when the time is nigh.”
“I suppose that’s all right. But you must inform me of your intentions. I will be traveling until next spring. My plan is to return to England, but if strife and turmoil are still rampant, I may stay on at St. David’s for a time.”
I squeezed his hand. “Thank you. I will contact you as soon as I have amassed enough proof of Osric and Demas’s deceptions.”
He looked to the letters. “This looks to be a good start.”
Despite Plegmund’s zeal, the mead and late hour caught up to him, and he lay fast asleep on a pallet in the corner. I didn’t have the heart to wake him, knowing he would be called to observe the night vigils. By the time I left the scriptorium, I buzzed with barely held restraint. The letters were damning. They spoke of money changing hands and lands given for support. An alliance with the Vikings weaved through the pages with stark brutality. One such letter even outlined the success of an attack on a Frankish monastery and the capture of Edward Eanwulfson of Wedmore. I had them.
I battled the wind and rain and returned to the main hall, hoping to find someone still awake. The grounds were empty, the torches extinguished. The monastery comprised several outbuildings, and I wasn’t confident which one was the nun’s dormitory. I felt it prudent to seek counsel. I was relieved to see a few familiar faces when I pushed open the heavy oak doors.
“Where have you been?” Eadfrith bustled up to me and led me to a bench. “Sister Frances has been worried sick.”
“I’m sorry.” I hadn’t considered anyone would miss me. “I’ve been in the scriptorium.”
“Doing what?”
The hazy fuzz of mead shifted as I scrambled to determine a reasonable excuse. “Admiring a beautiful illuminated manuscript with one of the monks.”
“Do you read?”
“Yes. I was fortunate to have a good teacher.” I looked about the room. “Where is Sister Frances? Has she gone to bed?” I hoped not. She could show me to the dormitory.
“Off looking for you, I believe.”
“I should go to my bed.”
“Let me help you. You will not find it in the dark. I know the grounds well.”
“Thank you.” I stood and the room tilted away from me. Exhaustion and mead took their toll.
Eadfrith locked my arm against his side. “Come.”
The chill and damp cleared my head as we bent against the push, half running, half tripping to the nun’s quarters. He opened the door, and we stumbled inside. I threw off my hood, letting the ends of my braid drip soundlessly onto the rushes. “Wales is not terribly hospitable at times.”
He chuckled. “No, it’s not. But other days, when the mist settles over the dales, or the lakes shimmer with silver moonlight, or snow caps the mountains, it is beautiful.”
I would have to take his word for it.
He roused the fire to life, and we huddled around its warmth. He released my brooch and removed my wet cloak. His fingers trailed down my arms, and I shivered. He removed his own cloak and hung them both over a frame on the other side of the fire. “You’re cold.” He grabbed a blanket from one of the beds and wrapped it around my shoulders, drawing me into him as he wrapped his hands around my waist.
I closed my eyes. The hearth crackled and popped. The air hung damp with moisture, the essence fresh with a lilt of the sea. His lips nuzzled my ear, and he kissed my neck. My body grew warm. Hands moved from my waist to my breasts, and I moaned, leaning my back into his chest. “I want you, Avelynn.”
My eyes flew open. The voice, the tone was all wrong. I shook myself as if out of a dream. We were alone in a small cottage. There were only two beds. This wasn’t the dormitory. I wasn’t with Alrik. I spun in Eadfrith’s arms, and he took the opportunity to grab my backside, his mouth seeking mine. I pushed hard against his chest. “Eadfrith. Stop.”
He pressed me backward, and the mead helped to contribute to my lack of balance. My calves hit the wooden frame, and I fell onto the bed. Eadfrith landed heavily on top of me. His lips continued to press their advantage, while his hand sought the hem of my kirtle. “Eadfrith.” I shoved and writhed beneath him. “Leave off!”
He growled. “Mmm. Yes, let’s get these clothes off.”
I hooked my leg around his, leveraged my arm, and flipped him onto his back. He smiled up at me as I sat on top of him. He placed his hands on my waist. “I like a woman who takes charge.” He tried to kilt up my skirt and get his hands beneath the fabric. My fist connected with his nose and stopped any further progress. I leapt off of him as he cupped his face.
“What the—?”
“I said enough, Eadfrith.”
Blood oozed from one of his nostrils, and he wiped at it with the sleeve of his arm. “Don’t play hard to get now.”
I growled. “I never played easy. I don’t know where you got the notion that there was more to our relationship than just friendship, but this goes no further.”
I stormed to the door and swung it open to find Frances with her hand raised, knuckles posed to knock. She looked at my disheveled state and then to Eadfrith’s bloodied face and charged through the door. She stopped at the foot of Eadfrith’s bed. He looked up sheepishly at her. His eyes flew wide and started to water as her open palm connected with his cheek. I could hear the smack from where I stood.
“How dare you,” she said.
“The lady—”
“Wanted nothing to do with your advances or you would not be looking up at me with a bloody nose!”
He glanced at me. “I thought—”
She cut him off again. “No. You did not think. That is the problem. You owe the lady an apology.”
He grumbled but stood. “Please accept my deepest apologies, Avelynn.” He regarded Frances. “Satisfied?”
“Not nearly.”
He retrieved a cup from a small bedside table and moved to the back of the room. He ladled out some wine from a large amphora. Liquid sloshed over the rim of the cup. He took a long drought and then coughed and sputtered. He snorted the contents of one nostril onto the ground. Blood splattered the rushes. “What more would you have me do?”
“Avelynn, please come here, dear.”
I wanted to get out of that room, but something in her voice made me pause. I closed the door and took a couple of steps closer.
“Why don’t we start by telling Avelynn the truth of Branwen.” Frances stood with her arms locked across her chest.
Eadfrith looked like a cornered stag. His gaze darted for some means of escape while his body tensed, ready to fight.
“What of Branwen?” I moved even closer.
Frances’s gaze never left Eadfrith. “Branwen is Marared’s child, but Alrik is not the father.”
“But Eadfrith said he was there at the birth.”
“Oh, he was there. For the child is his.”
My mouth flew open. Eadfrith dropped onto a bench.
Frances continued. “When Marared returned from her ordeal in Ireland, she was ripe with child. Sigy and Hyffaid sent her away to Bangor to hide her disgrace, bu
t she lost the babe. She confided in Eadfrith. Newly ordained, he provided the succor the girl needed. His intentions were altruistic at first, but his affections grew with each passing day. Marared saw opportunity. Eadfrith on the other hand fell in love. Despite her impropriety, as a priest, he held a position of power and took advantage of that sacred covenant.”
Eadfrith seemed to shrink into himself with the admonition.
“In time, Marared confessed to Eadfrith that she had missed her monthly bleed. He did the honorable thing and offered to wed her, petitioning Hyffaid and Sigy. Sigy was furious. Marared left the child behind and returned home. The family’s peace-weaving prospects rested on her shoulders. Sigy knew Marared’s beauty would secure a strong alliance. Men throughout Wales and beyond desired her.”
Eadfrith flinched, and my gaze drifted from his defeated face to Frances’s stern countenance.
“Eadfrith took it upon himself to see to the child’s welfare. He cared for her up until three years ago, when Sigy demanded he release Branwen into her care as a foster daughter. Eadfrith took over the leadership of the local church and took up residence in Dyfed to be near her.
“Marared said she would forbid me to see the girl.” Eadfrith’s voice was small.
Frances tsked. “Eadfrith is a good father. He has spent the last seven years watching over the child. I’m not surprised Marared hit him where it hurts most.”
“Did Marared have anything to do with your … advances?” I felt sick to my stomach.
His nod was enough to bring bile to the back of my throat.
“If I could get you to stray, if I could draw you away from Wales and the Northman, she would invite me back into her bed.”
Frances’s face pinched with pain. I could only assume it was the disappointment of a favored child gone astray. “There is no excuse for what you have done.”
“I know.” His head bent in contrition.
She addressed me. “You need to return to Lampeter.”
“I have no proof. No one to support my claim. Marared has Alrik convinced otherwise.”
Avelynn: The Edge of Faith Page 20
