Avelynn: The Edge of Faith

by Marissa Campbell

  He whimpered. Alrik slid the sword backward, drawing more blood in the process. The priest’s eyes teared. “Do we have an agreement?” Alrik asked.

  Llewelyn nodded.

  “Good.” Alrik removed his sword. “I will assure your family’s safety. Once this business is done, Sigy will no longer be in a position to hurt anyone. I will, however, have no qualms about gutting you through if you do not speak the truth. Do we have an understanding?”

  “Yes. Yes, I will do as you say. You have my word.”

  Alrik looked at the tent’s entrance. “We need a parlay with Hyffaid.” He laid a hand on my shoulder. “Tell Hyffaid your story. Let him know the depths of his sister’s ambitions and the lengths his own nephew would go to to see him dead. Take the priest, let him confirm your story and swear to Sigy’s treachery.” He grabbed the front of Llewelyn’s robes, lifting him off the ground. “Can you do that, priest? A test of your loyalties.”

  “I want nothing more than to see that woman suffer for her actions. You can count on my support in this.”

  Alrik untied the coarse rope. Llewelyn found his footing.

  “Be careful.” Alrik kissed the top of my head.

  I hoped the priest’s words would assuage Hyffaid. He’d been convinced of my guilt. His own words condemned me at the trial. This plan of Alrik’s worked only if Hyffaid could be swayed by reason. I hoped, in that regard, he was nothing like his niece.

  Llewelyn and I ambled toward Hyffaid’s camp. Since I was going into enemy territory, Cormac was hell bent on accompanying me.

  We set off past the muddy field, where countless men had already lost their lives. I waved a white cloth as we approached the gated palisade. Two armed men met us halfway.

  “I have a message for Hyffaid from Alrik the Bloodaxe.” I knew my English words would be ineffectual, but I didn’t trust Llewelyn to translate them. Without Alrik’s sword at his throat, the threat might have waned.

  The guards looked at one another and conferred amongst themselves in Welsh. One left, returning a good time later with someone in tow. I kept my eyes trained on the arrows nocked and pointed in our direction. Scrawny, with a large scar above his right eye, our translator regarded us and asked in English, “Who are you?”

  I repeated my message.

  He peered into the distance, perhaps assessing if the Vikings lay in wait. I didn’t feel it pertinent to assure him that they most certainly did and were awaiting only the outcome of my chat with Hyffaid until they closed in.

  “Tell me your message. I will relay it to the king.”

  “Tell Hyffaid that Alrik the Bloodaxe will not share this message with anyone else. Countless lives depend on your haste and prudence.”

  He scowled, his scar resting on his eyelid. “I will tell him.” He turned on his heel and marched through the gate. The doors swung closed.

  I frowned. “We may as well rest a spell; I suspect this is going to take a while.” The three of us sat on a grassy knoll on the outskirts of the battlefield, clear of the reach of arrows, and waited. Several hours passed before our friend made his reappearance. We strolled back to the center line.

  He waved his hand. “Come with me.”

  All three of us stepped forward.

  “Not him.” He pointed a bony finger at Cormac.

  Cormac didn’t need to know the words. He saw the threat in the man’s eyes and continued to step closer.

  “He comes with me.” It was a simple fact, one not worth arguing. He was going to come whether the scrawny runt wanted him to or not.

  Our translator looked to the two armed men standing beside him and said something in Welsh. Cormac puffed out his chest and stood taller, his face all hard lines and determination, daring them to try to stop him. The two men seemed to get the idea and shrugged, stepping out of the way.

  Our friend muttered under his breath but started walking. Evidently, he realized the futility of the plan as well. We followed our guide inside the compound. The gate locked shut behind us. I ignored the hostility darting our way. Hands sought swords and knives, and whispers circulated like leaves caught in the wind.

  We were bade to wait outside the great hall.

  Hyffaid clearly wanted it known he was doing us a favor by allowing us the privilege of his audience. I wanted to scream. Men and their foolish, childish games.

  With the afternoon waning, our translator ushered us in. Hyffaid sat on the raised dais, flanked by several armed noblemen.

  I’d had enough. “How thoughtful of you to keep us waiting all day.”

  “I am a busy man.” He shrugged. “What is your message?”

  I pointed to his men. “They need to leave.”

  Hyffaid furrowed his brows. “Who are you? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

  I learned long ago, it was easier to fight in breeches and tunic than a kirtle, so I’d dressed ready for battle. I looked every inch a warrior, albeit a slight and rather petite one. “They leave, or I do.”

  He leaned forward. “And why should I listen to you?”

  I captured his glare and threw it back. “Because what I have to say might very well save hundreds of lives.”

  He sat back as if considering his options.

  “Heed my words. Rhodri’s men stand at the ready, and Alrik plans to attack. He is starved for vengeance. I’m offering you an alternative.”

  He held my unwavering gaze in silence. “Very well. I will honor your condition.”

  When the room cleared, I stepped forward. “We have met before, Hyffaid. Do you not recognize me?”

  His face contorted as he tried to put the pieces together. When he seemed to come up empty, I gave him a bit more. “I arrived here last month with Alrik. I’ve had a haircut since then.” I plucked at my tunic. “And a change of attire. But I’m every bit the woman promised to the man set to lay waste to his enemies.”

  He studied me.

  “I’ve only just made it back from a rather harrowing time in Gwynedd. I thought you might be interested in what I learned.”

  “Go on.”

  I didn’t think he believed a word I was saying, but the political maneuvering of his sister and nephew might change his mind. I spent the next hour explaining everything, from witchcraft, to treachery, to deceit, and ultimately to truce and vengeance. Llewelyn supported my statements each step of the way, painting a damning picture of Sigy’s ambitions and making sure Hyffaid knew the truth of Marared’s behavior.

  I remembered the note Angharad had written for Sister Frances. I’d had no need to give it to her, but the missive would prove invaluable now. “Further proof of my virtue.”

  He set the note down, almost reverentially. “I was convinced of your treachery. I am at a loss for words.” He stood and offered me his hand. “I have done you a disservice. You have my apology.”

  The sentiment startled me. Touched, I clasped his arm. “Thank you.”

  The warmth that had flickered briefly disappeared, and he withdrew his hand. “While the evidence against Alrik as king slayer is convincing, you will pardon my lack of enthusiasm for the man. He attacked my cousin, taking his sword hand, an insult I am not likely to forgive or forget.”

  “Baroc led Alrik and his men into a trap. He maneuvered his own guard so the Northmen led the march. He knew there was a threat of ambush. You will recall, I was there. I witnessed Baroc’s cowardice and malice when he ran. His actions could have started a war.”

  Cormac sneered. “Bastard deserved to be hung up by his entrails.”

  I didn’t wish to get in the middle of a pissing contest. I turned to Cormac. “Take the priest outside.”

  Cormac grumbled but escorted Llewelyn from the hall.

  Hyffaid’s lips tightened, but he deigned to press further. “Tell me of Alrik’s message.”

  “Alrik’s quarrel is not with you.”

  “He wishes to arrange a truce?”

  “You’ve seen for yourself the path Sigy and Gil have taken. They wil
l stop at nothing until you and your children are dead.”

  “As you’ve mentioned.”

  “All he asks is that you stay out of the coming conflict. Stand at the ready, but keep your men well back. He will confront Gil and help you regain the cohesion of your kingdom.”

  An eyebrow cocked with interest. “How?”

  “You need proof of what Sigy and Gil have done. Alrik will wring the truth out of him, even if it takes until Gil’s dying breath. A confession you will want overheard by all.”

  “You are certain of this.”

  “Everyone will know of Sigy’s plot and Gil’s treachery before Alrik leaves the field. This I can promise you. But you and your men are to stand down, regardless of the form that confession takes. Do you agree to those terms?”

  A satisfied smile settled on Hyffaid’s lips. “You have my word.”

  “There are two conditions.”

  He nodded. “Go on.”

  “First, you must honor the original arrangement you and Alrik agreed upon.”

  “The sail and the gold.”

  “Yes. I must have the sail immediately, but you have until the morrow to secure the rest.”

  “I will send for the sail and have it delivered to you forthwith.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And the second condition?”

  This one had nothing to do with Alrik’s demands. “Sigy sent Marared’s daughter, Branwen, to England. See that she is taken care of.”

  His lips pursed. “Marared’s daughter?”

  “Branwen’s parentage is of little concern now. No one will hear the truth from my lips. If anything, an association with Sigy or Marared would only hurt the child. My intent is to see her safe.”

  “I will ensure her well-being.”

  “Then we have an understanding.”

  “We do. Provided Alrik and his men leave Wales immediately after the conflict and do not return.”

  “You have my word.”

  Satisfied, he shook my hand.

  I took my leave, pausing at the door’s threshold. “Have your men in place at dawn.”

  April 8

  We spent much of the evening preparing the ship and making sure all was ready for a swift departure. I’d told Alrik about Sigy’s intent to turn him over to Halfdan once she’d satisfied her aims. The urgency to leave took on fresh agency. The crew rigged the new sail, though it remained furled, its design and color hidden. The old sail would serve well for warmth and was tucked away in the hold along with enough rations to see us through the journey across the ocean. With Marared dead, at least we had one less plot to worry about.

  When morning cleaved the night, Alrik and his men marched onto the battlefield, hell bent on fury. Rhodri’s men, led by a man named Bleddyn, fanned out to one side, flanking the Vikings to the right. Gil and his followers practically skipped to their positions on the left of the Northmen, all but assured of their victory.

  Hyffaid’s men lined up in front of the palisade. Archers prowled the platforms along the length of the formidable wall.

  Gil stood by Alrik’s side, all but salivating. Alrik, for his part, showed such considerable restraint, I feared he would snap. He watched with an impassive stare as Gil flounced and paraded in front of his men like a deranged peacock.

  Tollak dragged Sigy through the crowd. Her hands were bound behind her back, a chain shackled around her ankles.

  Gil stopped his swaggering and rushed forward. “What’s the meaning of this?” He turned to Alrik. “I demand your man release her.”

  Alrik gripped his sword hilt. “I will release her when you return Avelynn to me.”

  “Are you well, friend?” He eyed the Viking warriors standing ready. “Avelynn is dead.”

  I removed the hood of my cloak. “No, I’m not.”

  Whispers quivered through those assembled.

  Llewelyn’s voice carried above the crowd. “Men, stand down. Lower your weapons. There will be no conflict this holy day. We have all been deceived.”

  Soldiers and warriors looked to their leaders. Bleddyn’s men lowered their shields, and Hyffaid’s army, bolstered by Gwgon’s troops, retracted arrows and spears. The Vikings never altered their aggressive stance, though no weapons were raised. Gil’s men, picking up on his anxious, bewildered energy, cast nervous glances around them, though they too lowered their weapons.

  Llewelyn stepped onto a raised platform. “A grave matter must be rectified.” He motioned me forward, and I took my place at the center of the field. “This woman, Avelynn of Wedmore, stands before you, innocent of all charges.”

  Hyffaid added his account to the simmering speculations. “I have confirmed the lady’s story and have offered her my support and protection.”

  The proclamation raised the volume of conversation, and eager tongues waggled.

  Llewelyn continued. “Marared’s body will be dug up and removed from holy ground.”

  Gil rushed forward. “This is madness. I demand you cease your lies.”

  Llewelyn continued. “Sigy, daughter of Siegfried, sister to King Hyffaid of Dyfed, you are hereby charged with witchcraft, treachery, and murder.”

  Tollak yanked on her chains. She tripped and fell in an undignified heap. He dragged her through the mud to the cross.

  Gil ran forward. “Enough. Stop this at once.”

  One of Hyffaid’s men stepped forward and emptied a sack full of heathen objects at Llewelyn’s feet: a calf’s skull, a goddess figurine, and a large painted shield depicting Odin and his Valkyries.

  Llewelyn address Sigy. “Hyffaid confiscated these pagan objects from your tent. How do you plead?”

  “I am innocent of the charges.”

  “The king himself swears that these are your possessions. Are you calling your king a liar?”

  “Of course not,” she stammered.

  Llewelyn waved his hand. “Bring forth the next item.”

  A servant set a woolen bundle on the ground at the priest’s feet. Everyone craned their necks to try to catch a glimpse.

  The man removed the blanket and scampered back. The dried, blackened, mummified remains of a canine greeted the crowd. Llewelyn crossed himself, as did almost everyone else. Even the Northmen gripped talismans. I spun the ring on my finger and swallowed.

  “This is the work of the devil.” Llewelyn pointed at Sigy. “This woman is his concubine.”

  Sigy snickered. “You are a fickle man. You were convinced the blame for these charges lay at Avelynn’s feet. Now you wish to recant your statements and throw your foul lies in my direction. You are a fool—a weak and pathetic louse. What did the Viking threaten you with?”

  “Yes, I am a weak man. You threatened to curse my family, and I relented, supporting your claims against Avelynn. God will see me punished. I will serve my penance, but I will no longer hide behind fear. Your reign of evil and terror is finished.” He waved to two men, who carried forth a coffin. “Hyffaid ordered the grave reopened. The grave in which we all assumed the lady Avelynn lay dead.” The men pried open the casket and everyone held their collective breath. A lifeless body curled into itself. My kirtle, dusty and ragged, hung from her small frame. Llewelyn marched forward and pulled the sack from her head. The vacant stare of a young flaxen-haired maid, no older than fifteen winters, cast the final verdict.

  The assembled mass of onlookers exploded with incredulity and vehemence. Even Hyffaid couldn’t help staring. Alrik, too, seemed to need the confirmation.

  Gil raised his hands. “Friends, my mother had no part in this madness. The heathens with their pagan ways are trying to undermine our unity.”

  Llewelyn ignored him. “Sigy of Dyfed, you are guilty in the eyes of the Lord. The law is clear. Throw her in the grave. Bury her alive.”

  Gil let out a yelp of protest and made to intervene, but every Northman unsheathed his sword, causing a wave of reaction in the men around us as men scrambled to prepare for battle.

  The men who had carried in the c
offin took a few hesitant steps toward Sigy, ready to enact Llewelyn’s justice, but Alrik held up his hand. “Not just yet. Tie her to the cross.”

  They cast uncertain glances at the priest, who in turn appealed to Hyffaid for guidance.

  Hyffaid yelled above the din of the crowd. “This matter is between the Northman and Gil of Dyfed. We will not intervene. Lower your weapons.” Slowly, the multitude eased their weapons down. “Let Alrik continue.”

  I watched as if in a dream as Cormac and Tollak lashed Sigy to the wood. Less than a week prior, that had been me. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Gil scowled. He unsheathed his sword and charged at Alrik. “You would go against me after all I have done for you. I stood by you, defended you against Hyffaid’s charges. I joined in arms with you to fight against his injustice and cruelty.”

  Alrik batted at Gil as if he were an irritating fly and walked over to Sigy. He unsheathed his knife.

  Gil held up his hand. “Alrik, I beg you, leave off. I will give you whatever you need.”

  “What I need is a confession.”

  Gil’s jaw tightened.

  Alrik passed the knife’s edge along Sigy’s throat. “You made me believe Avelynn was dead. You surrendered her to Rhodri, so that he could turn her over to the English. Do you know what they would have done to her had she not escaped?” Alrik grabbed hold of the neckline of Sigy’s kirtle and yanked hard, ripping the fabric down to her waist. He pulled the sleeves down, exposing her breasts. She refused to flinch or catch his eye.

  I’d no idea what Alrik planned to do once we marched onto the field. We had discussed a general plan of attack, but the details, the minor elements, were left to chance. Alrik’s anger was palpable. I knew he wanted nothing more than to kill the lot of them. He wanted to tear Gil limb from limb, but he wanted to make him suffer first, to feel a fraction of the pain he had. My fists curled tight at my sides. My heart broke, watching the man try to maintain control.