“Open it, at least,” prompted Burginde. “I cannot bear any more surprises.”
Ælfwyn sat down and pulled the string on the pouch. She slipped her fingers in and drew out a finely wrought red-gold chain made up of many thin links joined together in a twisted rope. In the middle of the chain hung a single white pearl as large as a quail egg, pierced through with a gold stem and clasped at top and bottom by gold caps. It was a necklace, and of amazing beauty.
We all exclaimed; I myself could not help it. The size of the pearl, its whiteness and smoothness, the colour and workings of the chain that bore it, even the caps that held the pearl, were all of great beauty and great worth.
Burginde spoke first. “If this be your welcome gift on the road, only think what awaits you at Four Stones.” She turned the chain over in her hand. “‘Tis not our work, and must be Danish, or perhaps the work of the Franks.”
Ælfwyn thought a moment. “Tho’ it be so beautiful, I am glad it is not our work, for I hate to think of the Lady who lost it to such as the Danes.”
“Still,” I said, “it is a wondrous gift, truly fit for a queen.”
“Or a jarl’s wife,” finished Burginde.
Ælfwyn nodded her head. “Perhaps Yrling, in sending such a gift, truly desires to please me.”
Burginde’s answer was quick. “Perhaps, in sending such a one as that Toki to deliver it, he is as thick as Osred.”
Ælfwyn took up the necklace and slipped it back in the pouch. “No man,” she concluded, “who sends such a gift to the woman he will wed is thick.”
“Yes, and we should not think ill of it,” I said. “Perhaps he does seek to please you.”
But Ælfwyn passed the pouch to Burginde, and stood up and said, “Put it away now; I have seen enough of it.”
During this time we heard the voices of the thegns and the Danes by the second waggon. At times Toki spoke in our tongue to the thegns, and at times in his own. Then we heard them ride back, and heard the laughter of the Danes mixed with the flat tone of their speech.
The waggon began to move, and we took our seats.
Chapter the Tenth: The End of the Road
IT was dark when we made camp, and hard to see just where we were. Osred lit a fire, and Burginde prepared the meal, but Ælfwyn and I stayed inside, and only went out just before sleep. The Danes talked to each other without ceasing, and the thegns, it seemed, not at all. Where they, or the Danes slept, I do not know.
In the morning we came out from the waggon and felt at once the eyes of the Danes upon us. Ælfwyn turned away to the other side of the waggon, as if she would speak to Osred, who was working on an ox yoke there. Before I followed her I looked over to the Danes as they stood before the fire. I did not do so to be bold, but rather to stop their own boldness; and if I could not stop their gaze I resolved that I should at least meet it.
They fell silent, and looked at me with narrowed eyes. Toki smiled his scornful smile, and lifted his hand in a salute to mock me. I turned, and holding myself tall, walked away. Toki said something to the other Danes in their own speech, and I heard much laughter.
Ælfwyn stood by Osred. “We are already prisoners, and not yet there,” she complained.
“You are not a prisoner, nor shall you be,” I began. “These men are to Yrling as the thegns are to your father; they are pledged to him, and thus to you. Tho’ they be rude, do not forget that you in your way can command them.”
Osred looked up from the cord he was braiding. “The goose rules the gander, and she be twice as quick,” he said.
“I am no goose,” said Ælfwyn, and she did not smile at his joke.
“No, Lady,” he answered, not looking up, “but they that squawks as one can pass as one.”
Now she smiled. “Perchance you shall yet hear me squawk,” she said; and she turned, and we made our way back inside the waggon.
The day was not a bright one, and as we began a fog rose that swirled about us. The Danes did not ride in any fixed pattern, but rode sometimes all ahead of us, all behind, and sometimes alongside of us, laughing and talking all the while. The thegns kept as they always had: one man before, and two behind, and kept as well their grim silence.
We stopped only briefly at noon. The marsh gave way gradually to dry land, and the reeds and willows to hazels and elders. I saw these things because we resolved not to close the flap if it was not wet or cold, for as I reasoned to Ælfwyn, Why should she not see the lands that would now be her home?
We sat looking out of the waggon, and she said, “It is easier now that we have met with these men. To wait for them was the hardest part.”
I agreed, and asked, “Why do you think Yrling did not come?”
“Perhaps he is shy,” laughed Burginde, to which Ælfwyn paid no mind.
“Perhaps,” Ælfwyn said, “he is too proud to come and meet me on the road.”
“Even tho’ you bring such treasure?” I asked.
“Perhaps my treasure is naught compared to his. The pearl he sent may be one of many he owns,” she said.
“Only think of what may soon be yours, if he be as generous then as he is now,” pondered Burginde aloud.
“I do not think of it,” snapped Ælfwyn. “I am not here for treasure. What good will it do me? Whatever jewels await me, I would rather be back in Wessex.” She ended more gently, “But it cannot be. It is decreed that I do this thing; and do it I must.”
“That is so,” I said, eager to agree to so reasonable a speech, “and the honour you will win amongst your people will perchance be great; and you may also win honour amongst the folk of Lindisse.” She looked at me and I went on, “Think you of my own King, Burgred of Mercia, and that he be wed to the daughter of King Æthelwulf of Wessex, and that she be sister of King Æthelred who rules you now. Through this and other acts of Æthelwulf, a Peace was procured for both countries, after long years of war. And the Lady Æthelswith is loved throughout Mercia, for tho’ we are not her native people, she has done many kindnesses to win our love.”
“What has she done?” asked Ælfwyn. “Perhaps I in my small way may find a model in her.”
I thought a moment. “Well, she has made Abbots and Abbesses to raise up churches; and founded hospices for lepers; and fed the poor; and -”
“Yes,” Ælfwyn broke in. “I shall raise up churches in a place now heathen! And she doubtless had silver of her own. How can I help the sick and hungry without silver? All that is in these waggons goes to Yrling.”
“I do not know,” I said, and I was almost as impatient as she. “But I think there are always ways to do what you most desire.”
“Perchance,” nodded Ælfwyn, “but my lot is given, and yours is chosen.”
To this I had no answer, and so was silent.
The dark came on, and we stopped and made camp. On the morrow we would arrive at Four Stones, and one life end and another begin for each of us. But we did not speak of this; it was too close.
At supper Burginde brought an ewer of strong ivy ale, and poured out full cups for we three. That was her way of saying, So be it.
The morning lacked all brightness, and as we made preparation to leave this final camp I looked at the Winter-clad plain and wished for strong Sun or even grey rain to give it colour.
Of my two gowns I chose my green travelling one, for it was the better, and with my squirrel trimmed grey mantle made fair show; and I pinned my large pewter brooch at my neck. Burginde wore as always brown wool, but added over it an apron and head wrap of light blue. But Ælfwyn looked with dull eyes from gown to gown, and it was not without our urgings that she at last chose one in which to arrive at Four Stones. It was of dark cobalt, running to purple, and had golden thread work all along the hem and sleeves. At her throat she pinned her silver and garnet brooch. Over this she put a mantle of red wool, lined with marten fur; and the beauty of Ælfwyn thus arrayed as a queen was beyond all womanly beauty I had ever seen. Her yellowy h
air fell over her shoulders as a shimmering veil, but when she held up her silver mirror and saw it, her brow creased, and she turned to me.
“Braid up my hair; I would not show it thus today,” she said.
I plaited her hair so that it fell in one long rope of yellow to her narrow waist. Upon her head she draped her sheer silk scarf, and lifted the hood of her mantle over all.
“How beautiful you are,” I said with feeling. “No one could but love you.”
With a nod of her head she turned away from me and sat down on the bench. We could hear the Danes outside mounting their horses, and their talk was all the louder in their impatience to be off.
The waggon jerked forward, and we settled in for the final hours of our journey. After a time we heard the Danes ride ahead, laughing and shouting, with joy, I imagined, to be so close to home. When we could no longer hear their shouts Burginde peeked through the flap, and then pulled it wide so that we might all look out on the countryside of Lindisse.
It was passing fair to look upon, with the same broad meadows we had seen the day before. The Danes were riding far in front of us, and tho’ I knew I must soon learn to bear their gaze, was glad they left us now alone and in peace. We went on for the better part of the morning, and then the Cæsar’s Road beneath us came to an end; and the waggons heaved along upon nothing more than a rutted earthen road.
We leaned forward, straining our eyes towards the distance. A light mist began to fall. It was fine, almost the fineness of dew. I looked to Ælfwyn, to see if she should command the tarpaulin flap pulled shut, but she did not. It was quiet, for the Danes had rode on, and the thegns of Ælfsige spoke not. The only noise was the snorting of oxen as they pulled against the yoke, the jangling of the thegns’ bridle bits, and the dull thud of the iron-rimmed wheels over the brown road.
The road broadened now, and fell away in slow descent. We rounded a turn and came upon all at once the tumbled ruins of a cottar’s hut, blacked by fire, and trampled down as if by horse’s hooves. This sight was so sudden that Ælfwyn and I each caught our breath. Burginde looked at us with round eyes, but said nothing.
Ahead of us were a great number of village huts, but it seemed strange that from so few came forth the smoke of cook-fires that stained the grey sky. We grew nearer, and I saw the Danes gallop through the village and vanish from sight.
I could just see the moving forms of people, some of whom crossed close to the road, others who moved away. The mist in the air was now become a drizzle, but the flap stayed open before us, for somehow we seemed compelled to watch and to see.
Closer we rolled, and the forms of people grew large, and now lined the road to see us pass. There were at least three score of them, and from somewhere a dog began to howl, and was joined by another dog, and this was the only welcome we heard.
Now the first of the huts were perhaps only a hundred paces from us, but the drizzling rain had so sheltered them from our gaze that only now could we truly see them.
There were a goodly number of huts, sixty or more, all with crofts made up of stout wooden stakes. These crofts were now broken, with wide gaps unmended, and held no beasts at all. Many of the huts themselves lay in heaps, broken and trampled upon the ground, or burnt so that wisps of wet thatch lay around scorched and sodden wattles.
We drew still closer. Edging the road upon either side gathered those who lived in this place. They were ragged, as only the poorest cottars are, and their faces dirty; but these things struck me not. What I stared at was this: That they were all women, every one of them, save for one toothless man of ancient age who gaped open mouthed at us, and for a few small boys who with their sisters clutched at their mother’s rags in fear.
I looked down upon them, and every face which met mine was that of a woman or her child, and in their faces was a look that stung me, but from which I could not turn. Their eyes were the eyes of utter hopelessness, and of weariness beyond grief. They did not beg, they did not speak, nor make any sound at all, but only looked upon us with the eyes of the dead. I could not move, and tho’ I felt Ælfwyn’s hand thrust itself into mine, I could not turn to her, for my eyes no longer obeyed me.
These women, of every age of life, with their tattered rags falling off their thin arms, stood silent as we passed. Then one who had a babe of only a few weeks pressed to her breast raised it up in her arms towards us, and the babe cried out; and the woman wailed. Then did every woman there hold some child up for us to view. Girls who were children held their children in their arms and lifted them, crying, to us. Girls who were children but with the swollen bellies of mothers clung to their own mothers and hid their faces and wailed.
As this cry of misery came forth from these women, they pressed closer to us, and a dog who was a living skeleton snapped at the feet of the oxen. Then did the chief thegn, who had ridden in silence all this time before us, shout out to the women and spur his horse so that it tossed its head and snorted. The women cried out again, a sharp bright cry, and scattered. The waggons passed on.
Before us the open fields of the village lay along the road, and they were unploughed and unplanted, barren of all life. I fixed my gaze upon these fields, but saw them not, for my eyes were filled with the wretchedness of the women, and the horror of their usage at the hands of the Danes. I could not turn my head to Ælfwyn or Burginde, nor did I speak, nor did they.
Chapter the Eleventh: The Keep of Four Stones
THE waggon rolled on beyond the fields where sat grouped low buildings, dark and glistening in the drizzling rain. The buildings grew near and men on foot and on horseback moved in front of them. Some were working outside a thick palisade of wooden palings which ran circling outside the buildings. Others carried things about: planks of timber, bundles of palings, casks large and small, iron bars, and many other such things. All the men were Danes, I could see, for all, light-haired or dark, wore their hair long and in two braids, and all were clean-shaven, and all spoke to each other in the broad flat tongue of the others.
Our waggon started through the palisade gate, but the chief thegn did not go before it. He reined his horse to one side and stood with the other thegns as Toki led the way into the yard of the keep.
Before us was a group of timber buildings, none taller than two levels high. Some were roofed with lead sheets, and some with thatch, and some with a mixture of both. The largest of the structures was a stable, for its wide doors were open and horses could be seen within. This building looked massive and well built, and was roofed over with lead. Around it huddled half a score of small sheds, which shared a common wall with the great stable and leaned against it as if for shelter. There were also timber buildings which stood alone, and of what uses I could not guess. To one side along the palisade stood crofts which held penned goats, cattle, and a few sheep.
This yard was filled with men at work, for some walked by, carrying armfuls of spears to an open shed at which a smith worked at an anvil; and others rolled casks across the muddy ground; and still others carried buckets through narrow doorways to the men working outside.
Our waggons did not halt, but rather rolled on to another large structure. We stopped, and I looked for the first time upon the ruin of the Hall of Four Stones.
For that is what it was - a blacked and blasted ruin. Facing us lay the tumbled remnants of its four walls, the lower part of which had been built of stone, and the upper portion of heavy timber. The lower stone walls were mostly untouched, but within those walls lay naught but the charred rubble of the upper walls and roof beams. Tho’ it was a ruin, it was huge, and the largest hall I had ever seen, far larger and taller than any building at the Priory. I was moved by its greatness, and wondered at its lost glory.
It was then that Ælfwyn finally spoke. “Is it to this desolation that I have been sold, father?” And in her voice was both fear and disgust.
Now many men approached our waggons. Toki and the rest of the escort swung off their horses and greeted the men,
and then led their horses away to the great stable. Osred was told by another Dane, who also spoke our tongue, to unyoke the oxen. This man was tall and dark haired, but the thing I noticed most about him was a great scar which he bore upon his cheek. Osred got to work, and some other men came forward and unyoked those of the second waggon, so it was clear that the waggons were to be left as they stood.
We could not see the thegns, and I thought perhaps they did not come inside the palisade gate with us, but waited outside. Osred too was gone, as he followed the men who led the oxen off.
Many men were looking at us, but no one greeted us. No man seemed in greater estate or to have authority over them. So we three women sat in the waggon and waited.
Some of the men who had come closer to look at us began to move away, and still no one came forth to lead us to Yrling.
Then did Ælfwyn speak again, and fairly hissed with anger. “There is no one to greet us.”
I did not know what to do. The choice was to sit there and be idly gaped at, or to close up the tarpaulin flap, and sit thus slighted in the yard before the ruined hall. I saw the tall Dane who in our tongue had told Osred to unyoke the oxen. “Sir,” I called, as loudly and boldly as I could, yet I knew my voice quavered in my throat, “please to take my Lady and I to your Lord.” For if he would not come to greet us, we needs must go to him.
The Dane looked up and grinned in such a way that a dreadful thought rushed into me: Perhaps this man himself was Yrling; and I caught my breath, fearful lest I gave insult.
But no, I had not begun with such an affront, for he answered, still grinning, “He is not here, but returns tonight, or tomorrow, or when he will.”
He spoke rather well, and with not so great a broadness as Toki. I felt grateful that we understood him, and he us. Also, he did not seem over-bold, for his grin had softened into a smile, and as he stood before us, he drove off the idlers with a word or two in his own tongue. He was as plain to look at as Toki was handsome, for his dark hair hung lankly from a narrow brow, and tho’ he was young, his face was gaunt and creased with the deep scar which ran from his left cheek bone to his chin. His face was quiet, tho’, and his eyes had a thoughtfulness which Toki’s never wore.
The Circle of Ceridwen: Book One of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga Page 6
