She nodded her head. “Yes,” she agreed, and turned from the chest. “He will have to take whatever weapons the guard has, and make do with those.”
We locked the room, and carried the clothes upstairs. I looked upon her face as she touched all that we prepared for Gyric, and wondered how things would ever be right between her and Yrling again.
We heard Mul’s voice call out Halloo from below, and I went out on the landing and motioned him to come up. His narrow face was still solemn, but his eyes were bright as he bowed to us.
“Have you found a way to get a horse?” asked Ælfwyn eagerly.
“Not for certain, Lady, but I think we are close,” he answered. “I bethought me that the Danes be moving their horses tomorrow, and we will take most of those in the stable and turn them to pasture, and bring others in their place; and I will ride with them.”
“So you think you could somehow hide a horse where it could be found later by the prisoner?” I asked.
“Aye; perchance; if I be driving some late, near dusk, or taking some to water, over to the pond; and all the Danes be busy, I might tie one in the clump of trees yonder.”
“On the way to the place of Offering,” I said.
“Aye, along the path to that place.”
Ælfwyn pressed her hands together. “Good,” she answered. “If you take several horses, and there is much confusion, they will not notice if one less returns with you.” She thought a moment. “Choose a good horse, a fast one, but not one that will be missed right away.”
“Aye, Lady, ‘twould not think of touching one belonging to the Dane or his kin,” he answered.
“We have no trappings for it,” I remembered, not knowing how we had forgotten this most important point. “Without a saddle he will never be able to ride fast.”
“That be one thing that is ready,” grinned Mul. “There be many saddles and bridles we be working on in the great stable, for they come in to be mended of broken girths or worn reins. I have what we need in a sack, ready to go to my father’s tonight.”
“To your father?” asked Ælfwyn. “Why? I do not want him to know of this; it is too dangerous.”
“Know he must, Lady, unless you can figure how to get the saddle to the horse; for the ones I lead wear only a neck-rope. My father can take the sack at dusk to where the horse is tied, and no one be the wiser.”
We could find no answer to this, so must agree. The circle of those who aided us in this thing grew, and so did the danger to all of us; but without help it could not be done.
“Then we will plan for tomorrow night,” ended Ælfwyn. “Come to us in the morning, Mul, before you leave with the men, so that we may speak one last time.” Mul nodded his head, and she added, “And I, Ælfwyn, thank you with all my heart for your help.”
When we three were alone in the room Burginde went over to the table where sat the untouched platter of food. It had been hours since Dobbe had brought it, but it seemed days. She went down the stairs with it, and Ælfwyn sat at the table. Of a sudden she looked tired, and I too felt so weary that I could sleep. Before her, where I had left them, lay the ferny leaves from Wilfrida. Ælfwyn picked them up and said, “I recall these. Did you find out what they are for?”
“They are a gift from Wilfrida. She says if you steep them in broth or ale, and drink it three nights running before the half Moon, you will get a babe.” As I said this, I knew it was the last thing she wanted to think on.
The afternoon was far gone, and soon we must prepare to go to the hall. I unwound a ball of wool out the last window, and then went down into the kitchen yard and caught it up and tied it where it could scarcely be seen to a broken piece of gate post.
“You will be certain not to come down until I pull hard on the yarn?” I asked Ælfwyn back in our room. “It may be a long time, half the night, before I go to Gyric.”
“Yes, I will be certain,” she promised me, “and both Burginde and I will wait on the wool, so that we are sure it is you pulling and not the wind.”
So we went down.
The meal was the hardest I have ever known, for we wanted only for it to be over, and needs must act that all was well. I felt shaky and weak, and the ale went to my head at once, and tho’ my mouth was dry I forced myself to eat instead to steady myself. With each mouthful I thought of the Dane in the kitchen yard, and of the food and drink he lifted to his lips.
I found it hard to speak, and hard to sit next to Sidroc after what I had said about him to Ælfwyn. I was about to do that which might force me to run off with him; and he sat at my side knowing none of it.
Ælfwyn kept her part well, for she talked and jested with Sidroc, but her jests wore a false brightness, like a thin sheen of gold over copper. But Sidroc did not seem to notice, and talked of the moving of the horses, and the game that might be brought back by Yrling, and of hunting hawks that would come in the Summer.
At last it ended, and we lingered long, and the tables began to be broken down, and then Ælfwyn recalled she must speak to Dobbe; so it began. She walked into the kitchen passageway with me, and stood there while I found the smock Dobbe had left. I pulled it on, and Ælfwyn went through the door into the yard and came back with Burginde. They stayed a moment in the passageway, and then Ælfwyn kissed me and turned and walked back into the hall with Burginde.
I pushed open the door and walked through the yard, lit now by torch light, and stopped for one moment by the washing pot near where Dobbe stood. She nodded to me, and I made some pretence of straightening up around the yard as the others went about their work. One by one the torches were rubbed out in sand until only the cooking pit gave light. I walked to the grain shed, and as I passed the cellar opening heard the snores of the guard within. The door to the shed was open, and I slipped inside and stood there in the dark. There was only the thinnest sliver of Moon, and I stood still and wished I had some source of light. I felt around and found a platter with an ewer and a bowl of food. There were odd rustlings about me; the shed was old and creaky and doubtless full of rats as Dobbe had said. My eyes grew stronger in the dim light and I settled upon some grain sacks to wait.
I do not know how long passed. I had no way to gauge the time, with either candle or lamp, and inside the shed I could not see the movement of the stars as they circled over my head. I strained my ears as I listened to the snoring of the Dane, and wondered how deeply he was asleep. At times I thought only a few moments passed, and at others was fearful that I had waited too long and it would soon be dawn.
I did not know how I would find Gyric in the dark of the cellars, and as I recalled Dobbe telling me the cellar was tumbled in, I wished over and over for a candle or a cresset. This need drove all other thoughts from my mind, and I resolved to go to the cooking pit and relight a torch, or at least bring a burning brand of some kind to give me light. If the guard were drugged, he would no more wake to light than to noise. Without light I thought I would never reach Gyric, and the fear of being caught was made far worse by the dark.
I went out as quietly as I could to the firepit, and found a rush torch, and split it in my hands to make it smaller, and held the oily tip of it to the embers. It caught at once, and I tried to shelter the light with my smock as I hurried back to the shed. The light danced about the little room, and I took heart.
Now I resolved that it must be time to approach the Dane, for his snoring grew faint so I thought the drug must be at its height. I took the torch in one hand and the ewer in the other and left the shed. I held my breath as I stepped through the opening and down the ramp, not knowing what I should do if he suddenly awakened. But awaken he did not, tho’ he lay on his back and the light from my torch fell full on his face. Against the wall behind him was his spear, and by his side lay his belt and knife. I wondered if I should move his weapons, but thought best not to touch them, for if I should need a knife, I could come back and take it.
I walked farther into the space, and almost lost my
footing. There were three stone steps, and they were slippery, as if they were wet or slimy with growth. I went down them and tried to cast the light about. There were walls and pillars of stone, and passageways, and piles of rubble beyond. The floor was wet and of beaten clay, and I heard a trickle of water from somewhere. The whole place had a damp and evil smell, and as I moved my torch a rat scuttled across the floor.
I wanted to call out, that Gyric might hear me and guide me to him, but I could think only of the Dane behind me and the many Danes above. I moved forward, and chose the central passage as it was largest, and walked slowly down it, casting my light from side to side. There were tiny rooms, as small as monk’s cells, lining either side, and some of them were filled with rubble from their own broken walls, and some were empty save dust and cobwebs, but none held a man. The passage ended in a cave-in, and I turned back. I looked at the maze of passages before me, and chose the one nearest. I did not have far to go, for one of the rooms had a low wooden door affixed to it, and an iron bar shot across it. I put down the ewer and pressed my eye close to the tiny opening in the door. I could see nothing, but found my voice and hissed out, “Gyric, Gyric of Kilton?”
There was no reply, and I set the torch against the stone wall and took the bar in both my hands and slid it in its bracket. I pushed open the door and stepped in.
The room was low, so low that I must stoop as I entered. It was as small as the other rooms, and against one wall lay the form of a slight man. He lay with his back towards me, and his arm cast over the top of his head. He wore only a ragged tunic and leggings, and his feet were bare, and the awful smell of the place told me he was lying in his own filth. I reached for the torch and propped it against a stone, and then took a step closer.
“Gyric,” I whispered. “Are you Gyric of Kilton? I am a friend.” He did not answer, and for a terrible moment I feared he was dead. “Gyric of Kilton,” I repeated.
At last he moaned, and stirred slightly, and I said again, “Gyric, Gyric,” and he uttered one faint word, “Yes.”
“You have friends here, and I have brought you food and drink, and we will help you get away,” I said, and hurried to fetch the ewer.
I went to his head, and knelt down and put my hand on his shoulder to turn him. His long hair was tangled and matted, and I brushed it off his forehead as I cradled his head in my hand. The torch light flickered across his face, and then my mouth opened in a scream that did not come forth from my throat; for he had no eyes. Where they had been were two blackened sockets, void and empty, and showing the mark of fire upon them.
I let his head fall back in my lap as I covered my face with my hands. At that moment the world seemed mute, struck dumb by my horror. He moaned again, and I somehow lifted my hands from my eyes and looked again at him.
“Are you Gyric?” I asked through my tears.
His answer was more moan than word, but it was “Yes.”
“I am a friend,” I said, and my whole body trembled. I reached for the ewer and knocked it over, but caught it up again. “Drink this,” I whispered, and held his head up and lifted the mouth of the ewer to his lips. He drank, slowly and painfully, and it ran down his chin onto his filthy tunic. He turned his face and retched it up again. I wiped his face with my smock as my tears fell down and wetted his cheek.
I laid his head down as gently as I could and took the torch up and cast it over his body to see if there were blood spots from open wounds. I could see nothing but the ghastly maiming.
I knelt there by his side, looking at his profile in the guttering torchlight. His face was covered with many week’s growth of beard, but his nose was fine and straight, and the line of his brow smooth and broad. He scarcely breathed, and I watched his lips, gentle and almost delicately curved, as they parted slightly. I looked upon this, and kept my eyes fixed upon his lips so they would not rest upon the hideous holes beneath his pale brow.
“I will come back,” I breathed to him. He did not answer or move, and I looked upon him once more as I gathered the ewer and torch.
I edged out of the cell and slid the bolt in place, and made my way back to the ramp. My heart was racing within my breast, and I could not feel my legs beneath me. I reached the sleeping Dane and passed him, and then stood again under the stars in the kitchen yard. I snuffed out the torch in the dirt, and laid it by the cooking pit, and left the ewer on the table. Then I drew a breath and stepped through the doorway into the passage, and pulled off the smock and left it where I had found it.
I rubbed my wet palms against my gown, and entered the hall. It was too dark to make out any of the sleeping men, and I made my way as quickly as I could, gained the wooden stairs, and flew up them. Ælfwyn herself opened the door, her eyes wild with distraction. As she shut the door the tears began flowing down my face. Burginde still stood by the window, waiting for the sign that did not come.
“Why did you not signal? Did you see him? Is it Gyric?” implored Ælfwyn, all her fear in her voice.
“Yes, I saw him; and it is Gyric,” I answered. “But they have maimed him - grievously.”
A look of terror came to her face, and Burginde crossed over to her and put her arms about her. Ælfwyn stood silent and unmoving, and then asked in a voice hardly above a whisper, “Is he still a man?”
I shook my head, trembling. “It is not that. He has suffered the poker. They have put out his eyes.”
Ælfwyn opened her mouth, and lifted her hands to her face as she gasped, “Put out his eyes?” Then, tho’ Burginde be there about her, she fell upon her knees in her horror and disbelief. “No, no, no,” she wailed, “no...”
I went to her and took her hands. She twisted her head up and away as if she would escape this horrible truth, and tears fell fast from beneath her closed eyelids.
“We will go tomorrow,” I said, “and take him from there.”
She could not hear in her grief, and I said again, “Tomorrow we will take him from there.”
“Take him?” she breathed. I stood back as her tears overcame her in a great spasm of grief.
“Take him to safety, so that he might live,” I said with some force.
She shook her head, and pulled at her hair. “He will not want to live,” she said.
“We do not know that,” I replied, and anger rose up and joined my grief.
For answer she had only tears, and I too held my face in my hands and wept.
“Who did this thing?” she wailed, clenching and unclenching her white hands in fury.
I looked up, and thought of this. “Not Yrling; the wound is not fresh.” Then I knew. “Yrling rode to two Danes, brothers, who had quarrelled over war one of them had made with a reeve of South Wessex. Out of spite one brother maimed or killed the prisoners taken in the battle, so that the other could get no ransom for them.”
She listened to this, but held her hands out before her as if she could fend off the truth. She dropped her arms and said, “And Gyric was one of them.”
I wanted to turn our speech from what had been to what could be. “He is dying,” I said.
“He is better off dead,” she choked out.
“He is alive now,” I answered in real anger. “I will take him away, tomorrow.”
She shook her head, disbelieving. “Take him away?” she asked. “How will you take him? Where will you go? You would not get beyond the keep walls.”
“I do not know. Mul will get a horse for Gyric and bring my mare too.”
“I will not let you; I forbid it,” she answered.
I looked at her steadily. “You cannot do such a thing. I will take him away tomorrow.”
“Where will you go? You do not know the country around here.”
“Neither does Gyric, and we thought he could make his way. I must do the same.”
“But you say he is - dying.”
“He is very weak, yes; and I must take him someplace safe where he can rest and grow well.”
; “He will never be well!” cried Ælfwyn, and her voice rose in fury. It ended in sobs, and she asked, “What if he dies? What will you do?”
“I do not know. I will come back, I guess.”
Now she crossed over to me, and took my hand. “Swear you will come back if he dies. Swear it,” she pleaded.
“I swear it,” I said, weeping openly with her, and feeling what little chance I had of getting Gyric away from Four Stones, and of keeping him alive for long if I did.
“He cannot die; he cannot die,” she went on, and burst into fresh tears. “I will lose my mind with worry for you. You will send me word somehow if you make it to safety with him; swear it.”
“I swear; I will find some way to send a message to you, even if it be a token which will carry meaning between us.”
“Yes,” she said, “yes,” and looked almost feverish. She let go my hand and clapped her own to her forehead. “It will never work,” she groaned. “Sidroc...Sidroc will hunt for you, and find you, and after he kills Gyric will bring you back.”
I could not find an answer for this, for I felt what she said was true. I looked down at the heavy silver disk gleaming on my wrist. I unfastened it, and held it to her.
“When he learns I am gone, give him this. Beg him, for me, that he not follow.”
She did not take it, and only shook her head. “That will not stop him,” she whispered.
“You must fix it so it does. Tell him anything you need to, but give him this and say I, Ceridwen, beg him not to follow.”
“What if Yrling wants to follow?”
“Perhaps he will not want to. He did not want to take Gyric in the first place, and is content to let him die here so he might not be troubled by him. He can earn no gold from Gyric now, and may think he will die soon anyway.”
We talked back and forth, trying to make sense of that which was senseless; and Ælfwyn wept and cursed in her grief and rage. At last Burginde brought forth cups of ale, and we drank, and she warned us that we should sleep soon. I bathed my face and hands, and pulled off my clothes and fell into my bed. For a long time I heard Ælfwyn’s muffled sobs as she lay weeping, weeping.
The Circle of Ceridwen: Book One of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga Page 32
