“Greetings,” began Ælfwyn, with great courtesy. “Are you Meryth, mother of Mul?”
“Aye, Lady, that I am,” replied the woman, and dipped her head low, “and you be the new Lady of Four Stones, the one who has fed my poor boy, and been so good to us here.”
Ælfwyn only nodded at the mention of these kindnesses. “We have come for your help, Meryth. I want to speak to the women here, as many as is possible, for I want truly to help rebuild your village. And as surely as I stand before you I need your help as well, for since I am now Lady of Four Stones I have a large household to care for, and we want both linen and wool, and the women to spin and weave it.”
Meryth took this all in, and nodded her head gravely.
Meryth answered, “If you Ladies please to ride on to the last huts, we could all gather in the croft of Wilfrida the Dyer. I will follow and bring the women to you.”
We rode on slowly down the road as Meryth went from croft to croft, gathering women and their children to join us. As we reached the hut of Wilfrida, Burginde said, “Be ready now for the mistletoe on the tongue,” but I think Ælfwyn was too much in her own thoughts to hear or answer.
The door to the hut opened, and an old woman peered out. Her hands, stained a sort of blackish blue colour, proclaimed her calling, and we knew we had found Wilfrida.
She saluted Ælfwyn with her hand, and bobbed her head. She was chewing something, what I could not tell, and tho’ she did not speak she did smile in a cracked way.
Ælfwyn looked down at her from her mare and said, “Greetings, Wilfrida. I am Ælfwyn, the Lady of Four Stones, and I have come to speak to you and all the women. Meryth is bringing them, and we will meet here in your croft.”
Wilfrida pulled wide the door and croaked out, “Be ye welcome, Lady.”
I tied our horses, and we passed through the low croft gate. We did not stand there long, for soon we heard the sounds of the approaching women. There were perhaps thirty or forty women gathering. I looked at Ælfwyn, wondering how she would speak to so many. She gave me a little glance and then drew a quick breath.
Wilfrida opened the croft gate, and the women filed in, one by one before us, and stood on the unploughed plots of the croft. They stared, wide-eyed, at us, and some smiled a bit, but all, save Wilfrida and Meryth, who tried to hurry them in, seemed ill at ease.
I looked about and found a wash tub, and turned it over, so that Ælfwyn might stand upon it and be seen and heard the better. She stepped up on it, and looked across at the worn and unwashed faces of the women before her.
Again she spoke with courtesy and kindness. No woman of her rank, I thought, spoke thus to cottars; yet speak she did, and hearing her I thought no woman nor man could hold any fear of her.
“Greetings, good women. I, Ælfwyn, thank you for your welcome, and come to show myself to you in peace. I am now mistress here, and your distress and want sorrows me, and I begin by pledging to you my aid and help, so that you and your children might live and grow strong.”
Many of the women’s faces softened, and I thought I saw several of them clutch at their bosoms where they might be hiding the silver coin they had received as token of Ælfwyn’s concern for them.
“I know that you have suffered greatly, and nothing can restore to you the life that was yours under your old Lord and Lady;” she went on, and the women stirred at these words, “but I desire to help you feed yourselves and your children. I do not yet know how this will be done, for we need seed, and tools, and most of all help in sowing. But I will try.”
Now the women were turning to each other and whispering, some of them with fear, but others with hope on their faces. Ælfwyn paused and regarded this well. After a few moments she went on.
“Perhaps you have no reason to trust me, and I do not fault you if you are fearful. But I came from my home to help spare it from the sufferings you now know, and so will do all I can to help you.”
“In fact,” continued Ælfwyn, “I have need of your help, and that is one reason I speak to you today. I have great need of spinners and weavers, for the household I must supply is a great one.” She spoke slowly now, as if grasping for the right words, and for the first time began to falter. “Since so many of you are now...alone, perhaps some of you would be content to spin and weave for me...”
The buzzing amongst the women now became open speech. I did not understand why they were so agitated, and it was clear that Ælfwyn did not either. I looked at Burginde, but she was looking hard at Wilfrida.
Meryth pushed forward. “Forgive me, Lady, but we must speak to you, for you may be our last hope,” she began in a low and urgent voice, but several other women began to shriek and call out against Meryth’s speech.
“Be still! Be still!” cried out Wilfrida, and the women were silent, save for some sniffling.
We all turned and regarded the withered face of the old woman. She glared at the village women and began, “Here be goodness, and life, and help, and ye be deaf and dumb to it,” Wilfrida cried, gesturing to we three. “What proofs do you want? Did ever the first Lady of the Dane ride out to see us, and she be even a Lady of Lindisse? And here be a Lady who blesses us with silver and stands before us, and asks our help, and pledges hers, and ye be only gawking.”
Wilfrida cast her sharp eye at Meryth, and Meryth once more began to speak. But Meryth turned and addressed the women. “My loss be not less than the rest of yours, for my eldest son is dead, and my risk is as great as any of yours, for it be the return of my husband we speak about, and my new babe is not his, but of the Danes. And I say, if we ever hope to bring those still living back to us, let this good Lady help us do so, for she be our best hope.”
This speech amazed us, and we did not understand, but we did not have to wait long for light.
Meryth turned to Ælfwyn and said, “Lady, some of our husbands still live, tho’ like wild animals, foraging in the forests, and we be fearful to bring them back, for the Dane may sell them off as slaves far from us. So if you can bring them back, and we can farm again, we will live.”
I think Ælfwyn was too astonished to speak, and Wilfrida went on. “‘Tis true, Lady, some of our husbands and sons escaped the slaughter of the Danes, and once the fighting was over should have returned; but for fear of capture and slavery in a distant land they live roaming the forests North of here. If the Dane will not sell them they will return, but most say they would rather starve in the forest then be shipped off in chains.”
Ælfwyn found voice and asked, “They have lived in the forests for two years?”
Meryth answered, “Yea, Lady, for nigh onto two years now.”
“Do they ever show themselves? How do you know they still live?” she asked, trying to grasp it all.
“They send word; by one way or another we hear of them. The monk who came here not long ago carried a message from them. Sometimes they try to send us meat they snare, but it be dangerous.”
Ælfwyn looked at me, shaking her head. She turned back to Meryth and the women. Now that she knew their sacred secret, they looked at her with even more fear and awe. When she spoke, her voice was full of warmth. “It is amazing that they live. I am glad for it, and I will do whatever I can to make certain they can return in safety. Until then I swear a solemn oath that this knowledge lives and dies in our breasts.”
Each woman sighed out in release. They pressed forward, murmuring thanks and prayers.
We mounted and left, but not before Wilfrida thrust into Burginde’s hands a basket of dried ferny leaves.
We slowly moved off, the women around us raising hands in Fare-well. Meryth bowed her head before Ælfwyn in gratitude.
Burginde was the first to speak. “So if the Dane will neither slaughter nor sell the men, we will have farming, and food again.”
I said, “No wonder the women would not marry the Danes. Their own husbands still live, or some of them, at least.”
“Yes,” answered Ælfwyn
, thinking it all through, “and I cannot believe that Yrling would think it anything but good that these men still live, for the labour it will bring and the money it will save.”
“Still,” questioned Burginde, “how can you be certain the Dane will not sell the men? ‘Twould be most awful to tell him and then have him round them up and send them off for the silver they would bring.”
Ælfwyn’s answer was simple. “He must be made to understand that they will do more good here, farming.” She looked down the road to the looming palisade of Four Stones, and spoke almost to herself. “Flax and wool and these village men returning home, that is all I must asked him for.” And she gave a little laugh, as if it was too great a task.
“I want to get off this beast and walk,” complained Burginde.
We went slowly back to the keep, for Burginde walked behind us as I held Shagg’s rein in my hand. We talked along the way, but as we got closer we fell silent. The watchful Mul took our horses and we walked through the yard and rounded the corner to enter the hall. As we did we saw Sidroc coming up the stone steps. He had a slight smile on his lips, as he wore so often, but as he came closer I saw he was looking at me in a fixed way.
He did not greet us other than stopping before us and nodding his head. Ælfwyn returned the nod and went on, with Burginde behind her, but the way in which Sidroc looked at me made me stop.
We stood there silently, watching Ælfwyn and Burginde disappear down the steps into the hall. Then he turned to look at me again.
All he said was, “On my ride today I passed by the place of Offering.”
There was some light in his eye, but I could not read his face. I did not know what to say, but I felt my cheeks begin to burn. He had seen the sash which hung as an Offering to Her, and knew, or guessed it, to be mine.
Without speaking I moved away and walked down the steps into the hall. I went straight up the stairs to our chamber, and there found Ælfwyn washing her hands and Burginde busy with fetching a towel. Upon the table lay my sash, neatly folded.
I picked up the sash and as calmly as I could laid it with the rest of my clothes. Then I turned and went back down into the hall, and saw Sidroc standing alone at the firepit.
I walked over to him and stood by his side. His eyes were narrow as he gazed into the glowing coals.
He began to speak, but kept looking at the fire. “Do not be angry that I returned it to you. When I saw it I felt that you would not like Yrling and the other men to see it.”
In fact, I only then began to think of this; but I felt at once that I did not want the other Danes to know that I had made Offering in this way.
“You think of everything,” I said, but so softly that he had to move his head closer to hear me.
“If that were true you would be mine tonight, and every night,” he answered. “And do not fear the wrath of your Goddess for taking your Offering. I left Her something of my own in its place.”
“Then I thank you even more,” I whispered.
I did not know what would happen next, and I did not expect what did happen. Sidroc gave a little cry, almost like a groan, and reached his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him. He pressed me very hard against his body, and I felt the strength in his arm across my back and the hardness of his chest against mine, and smelt the savour of his mingled smell of man and leather from his leathern tunic. He did not try to kiss me, or even lift my face to his, and he did not speak more, but just crushed me to him, as if by his strength he would make me part of him.
My heart was beating very fast, and I could feel his heart beat too, and I was full of fright for what he might say or do. Yet I could not believe he would harm me, but rather felt that it was I who did all the harm to him.
Then of a sudden he released me, and I could draw breath again. He looked at me with burning eyes and said, “I do not want any part of you until I can have all of you.”
The way he said these words made me feel as if a war went on in him, and I saw I truly should fear him, and his desire for me. I felt myself tremble, and tears started from my eyes.
“Go now,” he said, and I turned and walked away.
Chapter the Thirty-fourth: The Danish Rider
THAT night at table I was not alone in being more quiet than usual. Sidroc scarcely spoke, and Ælfwyn too was deep in her own thoughts. Perhaps the men seemed noisier to me because we were the quieter. A few times quarrels broke out, and Sidroc rose and called out to the men as they sprawled over the tables and pushed each other. They waved off his words, but stopped just the same. It was not hard to see that they, and Sidroc too, were restless.
The morning was easier, for it brought light and activity. Ælfwyn and I began the day by sorting through linens in the treasure room. We found a chest she had never before looked in, and she lifted the lid. Inside was a man’s green dyed mantle, richly embellished with gold wire sewn onto the border, and lined with miniver fur. It was not in the style of the Danes, and she spoke my thoughts.
“Merewala’s mantle,” she said. “It must be, for it is of a worth befitting a great Lord such as he.”
Beneath it lay more men’s clothes, including linen tunics of fine weave and workmanship. “Woven by the Lady Elspeth herself, and sewn by old Dobbe,” wondered Ælfwyn. She looked at the tunics and said, “Yrling needs these, as well as Sidroc, I am sure. I should ask him when he returns. He may have forgotten they are here.”
She folded them up with a sigh and laid them in the trunk. “Clothes should be worn by the living,” she said softly, and I could not help but recall the words of Sidroc, ‘Gold is for men, and the pleasure it brings us and our women.’
We locked the door and started back to our chamber. Ælfwyn had another thought. “Meryth said her new babe was of the Danes. If her husband returns, what if he abuse her for this, or kills the child? That would be cruel indeed, after all she has suffered.”
She went on, “In Wessex there are laws forbidding the death of such a child, but if the woman herself kills it, no one brings her to judgement.”
We went up the wooden stair and she finished by saying, “But if Meryth did not slay the babe at its birth, she must regard it. Besides, these are Christian folk, and we must trust that the men, if they return, will grow to accept such things.”
“One thing I will not accept is mouse heads in my bed,” answered Burginde as we entered the room. She was shaking the coverlet of her bed and the kitten’s latest trophies fell to the floor.
“Better heads than the whole mouse, running,” replied Ælfwyn with a laugh.
“Who be Christian?” asked Burginde, picking up again on our words as we entered.
“The village,” answered Ælfwyn, taking up her spindle. “But they have had no holy man here since the fall of the keep, only visits from lay-wanderers like the one who came to bless me. We should get a priest, or monk, or someone, to come here to live. Even Yrling said I might, and if we do not, the village will lapse, perhaps, and it will be on my head.”
“Pish,” answered Burginde. “You be having enough on your head without the salvation of the whole village.”
“Still, I should provide for it, and it would be good to hear prayers again, as we did each day at home,” she remembered.
She turned to me. “And you would welcome it very much, would you not? For then you could continue with your writing and reading, and sums, and all the things you have pledged to teach me.”
I was uncertain, and slow to answer. “Yes,” I said at last, “if one schooled in all these things could come, it would be good for our learning,” I admitted.
But within my own mind I said: Any such priest who comes will want to destroy the place of Offering, or will at least forbid us women to go there. And this thought lay on my heart like a stone.
Burginde chimed in. “The feasts we could keep ourselves, just as you might be saying your own prayers as your dear mother does.”
“But it is diff
erent at home,” protested Ælfwyn.
“It be different everywhere,” answered Burginde. “Your mother would say her prayers whether she had a holy man or no.”
“Well, it would be easier at least to have help,” grudged the Lady.
“And do not be pressing so much on the Dane. When he returns he will hear no end of changes you wish to make, and tho’ they be all for the good of the keep, ‘twill be hard for it to seem so to him. Let him be a heathen a bit longer, and in peace, without the harrying of priests about.” Burginde said this with so much firmness that it was impossible not to heed her words.
Ælfwyn nodded her head as she turned this over in her mind. “You are right, nurse,” she said. “I would not anger him now, when there is so much work to be done. All in good time.”
We spent the afternoon spinning, and because we had been speaking about letters and learning, we began to plan on how I would teach Ælfwyn to write and read.
“We can use my wax tablet to begin, for in it I learnt myself, so it is clever wax and already knows its letters,” I smiled. “Next Spring when we have lambs we will prepare parchment, and by then you will handle the stylus so well that a quill will come easy to you,” I told her.
“I hope we will have lambs,” she answered.
“Lambs or not, you will learn to write, and soon be able to sign your own name and much else too,” I promised.
“Imagine what my parents will say when they are read a letter I wrote myself!” she asked.
“Imagine what Fall will be like with no stockings,” answered Burginde, gesturing to the spindle Ælfwyn had set down.
The Circle of Ceridwen: Book One of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga Page 23
