Child of the Northern Spring (Guinevere Trilogy)

by Persia Woolley

  “I’ll have none of that,” Rhufon said sharply, pulling a guy rope taut. “There’s trouble aplenty without your moaning and complaining. If you had any sense, you’d be thankful we’ve got a king who cares. Now wedge that post up here, or we’ll never get this awning in place.”

  While Mama tried to provide shelter for all who came to us, it was my father’s task to feed them. He took hunting parties out daily, slogging through the wet woods or braving the rawness of the moors, and they considered themselves lucky to come back with a scrawny hare or perhaps a badger pried from his set. Too often they returned empty-handed, for the animals of the wild were in as much trouble as those of the hearth, and always there was the rain.

  Finally, one of the old workhorses was butchered in order to feed the masses. It was the black-and-white gelding Rhufon had nursed through infancy after its dam had been killed by wolves, and he spent a last few minutes with it alone, stroking its nose and trying to make some kind of peace with it, or perhaps himself, before the butcher’s knife was brought out.

  Mama and Gladys made huge pots of thick soup and served it in the Great Hall all day long so that everyone would have a chance to get out of the cold and wet for a few minutes at least.

  Yet for all the fuss over having meat again, it provided little solace. The skies remained overcast, and even when the rain let up there was still no sunshine. Children came down with colds and one of the elders died. And at some point a baby cried from fever, rather than hunger, and by nightfall was dead in its mother’s arms.

  After that great numbers of people suddenly took sick, struck down between one hour and the next, and those who didn’t die outright lay about weak and apathetic. Within days the number of bodies outstripped our ability to bury them, and despair skulked in the corners.

  From the beginning Mama was everywhere, turning the Great Hall into an infirmary, helping Kaethi make potions and trying to bring hope and comfort wherever possible.

  “M’lady,” the Medicine Woman whispered one evening, “we’re getting way, way low on herbs.”

  “Well, do the best you can,” Mama answered. “Aren’t there some in the chest upstairs in the family’s room?”

  “Aye, might be,” Kaethi answered guardedly. “But those are for you and the King and the little ones here, in case of emergency.”

  “I can’t think of any greater emergency,” Mama said curtly. “There’s no point in keeping them back when there’s so much need for them now.”

  Her voice was more weary than harsh, as though she had been struggling across an endless bog all day, and she sent Kaethi upstairs to fetch the rest of the pharmacia with a sigh.

  So there were new batches of brew made from the last of our reserve, and Kaethi leaned over the pots, shaking her head and muttering special words as she tried to save the whole country.

  By the end of the first week of illness, less than half the usual number of people were well enough to gather for dinner in the Great Hall. We clutched our bowls of barley broth and crouched around the fire, for the pallets of the sick took up too much room to allow for the tables.

  When the meal was over Nidan, as leader of the King’s warriors, signaled for attention, and the group fell silent.

  “We are doomed,” he began, staring at the haggard freemen seated within the fire glow. “’Tis the work of the Gods, angered by something we have done or left undone. And if we are to survive, we must find a way to appease Them.”

  A murmur of assent greeted him, but someone else spoke up with a mixture of despair and anger. “How are we to know which god, or what rite?”

  There was a wrangle of ideas then, from followers of every god Rheged had ever known, and finally my father called for silence.

  “It is abundantly clear that we need guidance. I, for one, am willing to ask the Old Gods, and”—he paused and looked directly at Cathbad—“I hereby swear to do whatever is deemed necessary to protect my people.”

  There came a sudden hush, as if each person had taken a soundless gasp of air and now held his breath. Those who had been watching my father when he spoke gaped at him in amazement, and others turned to stare as the meaning of his words reached them. I did not know exactly what this wordless awe foretold, but a terrible foreboding knotted my stomach.

  In the silence, the druid rose and bowed before the King. “You have always been both wise and just, M’lord. I hear you now offer to make the most sacred of sacrifices…the one on which all kingship is founded. Am I right in understanding this?”

  “You are right,” came the answer. “I make the pledge without reservation.”

  Mama had gone very pale, as though she had not expected this, and I glanced between her and Cathbad, but saw no hostility.

  The druid stared at my father with respect and admiration, and then looked round at the people. “You are most fortunate to have such a leader. But I do not believe the old ritual will be required; at least we should consult with the Lady before any such decision is made. The Beltane is still ten days away, and if I can borrow a mare, I’ll ride to the Sanctuary to confer with the Priestess. With luck, I’ll be back before the fire must be lit.”

  There was some discussion of details, and in the morning Cathbad and a small group of Nidan’s men rode out. The druid was astride Featherfoot, which probably saved her life, for all the other animals, except my father’s stallion and two of the workhorses, were driven out into the wilds the next day in the hope that they would be able to forage something for themselves. If any of them survived, we would try to capture them come summer. I never saw my pony again, but begged Epona to see that he made it through the terrible spring and wandered into someone’s steading later in the year.

  One last horse was slaughtered, and for a while we had a broth with bits of meat in it.

  Seven days after Cathbad left the little Prince took ill, and that night Mama was not at the hearth, though she came downstairs once the bairn was sleeping.

  She looked worn and drawn as she moved slowly among the people, stopping to comfort this one or chat with that. I caught up with her as she approached Gladys, who was seated next to her sick daughter.

  “How is she now?” Mama asked as the cook looked up at her.

  “Still alive,” the stocky older woman said, “but not any better. Not any better at all.”

  “And how are the stores in the kitchen?”

  Gladys shrugged her solid shoulders. “About two barrels of oats and a half-barrel of barley left, a few more bags of pease, and the men brought in two grouse today. I used the last cabbage in the soup tonight, and we’ve still a few old turnips. There’s lard, too, but with everything else almost gone, I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

  The older woman’s lumpy frame sagged in dejection, and Mama knelt down beside her.

  “Why don’t you let me sit with the girl while you go get a bowl of fresh water, and we’ll bathe her face and neck to make her feel better.” Mama gestured toward the feverish form on the pallet and patted Gladys on the shoulder at the same time. “I think you’ve been so busy taking care of everyone else, you haven’t had a break yourself.”

  At first the cook protested, then went off to fetch the water, and for a while Mama and I sat beside the girl I had never liked. I remembered the unkind things I’d thought about her in the weaving room and prayed she would get well soon. And I reminded the Goddess of Llyn, for no one had heard from her family for days now and I was afraid they too were stricken.

  Later I was curled up next to Kaethi by the hearth when Mama stopped to ask how the supply of medicine was holding out.

  “Can’t tell anymore how much is thin medicine and how much plain water with a lot of words said over it,” Kaethi grumbled, reaching out to take Mama’s hand. “I don’t like those circles under your eyes, M’lady. How long has it been since you’ve had any real sleep?”

  “Oh, I’m all right,” Mama reassured her. “I’m going back to our rooms once I’ve checked on the rest.” Sh
e made it sound as though that would be momentarily, but she was still seeing to other people when I climbed the stairs to bed.

  I crawled under the covers and lay listening to the water dripping from the eaves, my stomach aching from fear as well as hunger. Spring and hope and even the Gods seemed a long way away, and I entreated every one I could think of, from the great Brigantia to Cernunnos the Antlered God, begging that no more sacrifices would be demanded of our court.

  Next morning I woke to find Mama dozing in a chair beside my brother’s bed, huddled in a fur robe next to the brazier which had long since burned out. She looked so tired and forlorn, I slipped out of bed and crept over to her, curling up on the rush-strewn floor and leaning my head against her knees. She stirred sleepily and reached down to stroke my hair with fingers that were hot and dry against my forehead.

  “It it ever going to end?” I whispered.

  “Of course, child, of course,” she assured me, coming more awake. “All things come to an end, both good and bad.”

  “But if it doesn’t…if it keeps on like this…what is the ritual Cathbad’s gone to find out about?”

  I half-hoped she’d gone back to sleep and wouldn’t answer my question, but after a silence she began twisting a lock of my hair round and round her finger. And when she spoke, it was in a whisper as faint as my own had been.

  “It is said that in the Old Days the King was offered as a human sacrifice at Beltane, like the bull at Samhain. Such rites were done away with in the time of the Empire. But still the idea is there: a king must be willing to do whatever is demanded for the good of his people…and in very bad times that may mean being sacrificed himself.”

  The knot in my stomach tightened as the words took form. In some way I’d known it all along, but like many terrible things, it had no shape until someone gave it a name.

  My voice was a bare rasp of fear. “In the weaving room, the women say it’s never been this bad before…”

  “They always say that when things get difficult,” she answered softly. Then she sat up suddenly as though coming fully awake. Reaching down, she took my chin in her hand and tipped my face up to look at hers. “Remember, Gwen, no matter who says what, the important thing is to understand what needs to be done, and then do it. No matter how hard it is, or how much pain you feel. It’s as simple as that, really. Once you know what you have to do, you just do it…”

  A shiver ran through her, and for a moment she smiled gently at me. Then she threw back the robe and got wearily to her feet. “Here, you bundle up while I go down to the kitchen and see what I can do to help Gladys. Heaven knows how we’ll manage Beltane in the midst of all this…”

  So I crawled up into the chair, and she tucked the robe around me before going over to check on Nonny and the babe. Once she was satisfied nothing had changed, she tiptoed toward the door.

  “Tell Nonny to relight the brazier when the baby wakes up,” she admonished, pausing at the doorway and putting out a hand to steady herself.

  I don’t know how long she stood there swaying before her body crumpled and slid slowly to the floor.

  “Mama!” I screamed, forgetting the sleeping household. “Mama…Mama!”

  My father was stumbling out of the big bed and moving toward her, and Nonny came groggily to her feet while the baby started to cry. One of the serving girls from the Great Hall raced up the stairs, and by the time I reached the threshold where my mother lay, there was such a crowd around her I couldn’t get near.

  They laid her on the big bed, and Kaethi spent the day padding back and forth between the herb closet and the bedside, trying everything left to save her Queen. I ran what errands I could for her, or helped Nonny with the baby, who cried most of the day. My father sat by the brazier, staring at the woman who had been the delight of his life, and praying, I knew, to whatever gods he hoped would pay attention. From time to time he moved to the bedside or spelled Kaethi in applying cool compresses to Mama’s forehead, but she only moaned and twisted in her delirium and he was helpless to reach her.

  She died the next morning, with the dawn, and the little Prince followed her within an hour.

  Chapter VII

  Beltane

  I huddled in the hay, rocking back and forth with my hands clapped over my ears. Nonny’s wailing went on endlessly, echoing through my head like the cry of the dispossessed.

  More than anything else I wanted a warm, sweet embrace to curl up in; to be held and protected and cuddled until the cold weight in my chest melted and went away. But between the keening of the women and the stricken silence of my father, there was no solace to be found. So I sought sanctuary in the barn, desperately trying to shut out the thought of a world without Mama.

  In the next stall my father’s stallion nickered as someone tugged gently on my hands. I opened my eyes just enough to see Kaethi squatting next to me, her tear-stained face peering at me through the gloom. Reluctantly I let her pull my hands down from my head.

  “There, there, child…you can’t spend all day hiding,” she crooned gently. With deft caresses she began to smooth the ache from my forehead.

  “She isn’t really dead, is she?” I whimpered, and when the Medicine Woman nodded I shut both eyes tight and retreated into a ball of misery.

  “Nay, there’ll be enough time for grieving after,” the crone said, taking me by the shoulders and shaking me with surprising vigor. “There’s the Beltane to complete. You must come out for the rites, Missy…there’s no choice but to follow the ritual.”

  “Ritual!” The thought squeezed the last of my breath from me and I stared at her, suddenly very still inside. Terrible pictures prodded me, of the caldron, the druid, and vague forms performing unspeakable sacrifices. “What ritual?”

  “Why, the lighting of the bonfire. You know there’s none can stay away from the Beltane rites or the Gods won’t provide the fire, or spring, or crops growing rich in the fields come summer.”

  “And Mama?” I asked, pushing the thought of the Beltane tradition as far away as possible. “What about Mama?”

  “Her body will be buried tomorrow, after the May Dance around the Pole. They’ve taken a log and hollowed it out, just as in the old days, for there’s no time to build a fancy coffin.”

  I nodded, thinking dully that at least it wouldn’t be a cold stone box like the ones in the Roman cemetery outside Carlisle.

  “So we must go in…” my friend persisted.

  The howling in my head had subsided, but I hung back, still unwilling to leave the safety of the barn.

  “It’s late, child…the day’s almost over, and it’s time to help Gladys.” Kaethi’s plea was becoming urgent. “Gladys needs your help…and your father needs it!”

  Somewhere I could hear Mama whispering over and over, “…No matter how hard it is…”

  I gulped and nodded mutely.

  In the Hall people moved with hollow step, speaking softly against the low moaning that came from the upper chambers. No one seemed to notice that the rain had stopped, though the outer door of the Hall stood open without water pouring in. Nature now confined her tears to those within the court.

  Comments passed quietly from one to another; yes, the logs for the bonfire were well laid and waiting; no, the druid had not returned from his trip to the Sanctuary; and perhaps it was most fitting for the young Queen’s body to be buried in the old manner after all, rather than consigned to the Need-fire, as someone had suggested.

  I started at that, my shoulders twitching at the thought of flames licking around Mama’s form. Kaethi had her hand on the back of my neck, and she gently pushed me into the kitchen where Gladys was already working at the hearth.

  In the past, we children had made a game of helping to extinguish the life-giving fires, searching out every spark in hearth or brazier, lantern or torch. With it came the security of knowing that all other peoples between the two rivers were doing the same as we trailed behind Gladys like chicks after their mother, scattering the
ashes with mock seriousness.

  But today it was in deadly earnest, for even a single ember hidden away in the corner of the hearth would keep the Need-fire from lighting, and this year, of all years, we must have that sign of the Gods’ blessing. I dared not think of what would happen if the smallest coal were overlooked, and silently sifted each patch of ash through my fingers lest any hint of warmth go undetected.

  Afterward I made my way back to the sleeping loft where Nonny fell upon me with great racking sobs, stroking my hair and crooning as though I were her favorite come back to life. I stared at her dry-eyed, numb and wordless inside, and she went scurrying off to get our wraps, for the trip to the Sacred Grove would be damp and cold, and we would need warm clothing.

  While she was gone, I walked slowly over to the bed where Mama and the baby lay. They looked as though they were asleep, peaceful and serene, and I thought for a moment I could wake them with a touch. But my fingers found only a cold stillness, and I drew my hand back with a gasp as Nonny returned.

  “Here, here, my pet. ’Tis something to keep you snug and dry, if we can find someone to carry you across the river.”

  So I joined the rest of the court at the Gates, walking through the late afternoon as in a nightmare, powerless to change either the death behind or the fate ahead.

  This time there was no gleeful splashing through the broad, shallow ford of the river, no light laughter and gay spirits to rejoice in summer’s coming. The occasional words shared and greetings exchanged were glum and sullen at heart. Those who were sound enough carried friends or relatives too weak and sick to walk by themselves, and all concentrated on slogging up the muddy track to the top of the Sacred Hill.

  The people formed a restless circle around the giant pyre that awaited the Gods’ coming. The young men took turns twirling the sharpened point of the wimble against the ancient Beltane log and everyone watched intently for the eruption of flame that would prove the Gods attended us.