The Circle of Ceridwen: Book One of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga

by Octavia Randolph

  Chapter the Forty-fourth: The Last Day

  BURGINDE awoke me. It was after dawn, and light streamed through the windows.

  “Mul be here,” she urged us, “and has not much time.”

  She brought us shifts and gowns and we slipped into them, groggy from grief and lack of sleep. She opened the door and Mul stepped inside and bowed to us.

  “We be near ready to ride out, Lady,” he said to Ælfwyn. “Is all still as it was? A horse in the grove yonder?”

  I came up to him and answered. “Mul, the prisoner is wounded, and cannot ride alone. I will go with him. Can you somehow bring my bay mare to the grove as well?”

  His thin earnest face looked into mine in wonder. “You be going, Lady?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I responded, but said no more.

  “Your mare be not one that we be moving,” he thought aloud. “She is to stay here in the yard. Can it not be another horse?”

  “I would rather not take a second horse,” I answered. “The bay mare is mine, rightfully, for she was a gift; and so at least I do no wrong in taking her.”

  He looked doubtful, and he cast his eyes about the room. Then he lifted his head and said to me, “She be ready to be bred, these last few days; and her calling and whinnying be driving the stallions mad. If you could ask that she might be bred, I would have cause to take her out with the other horses.”

  “That is good,” I answered with relief. “Will you take her then and tell them that I desire this?”

  He shifted from foot to foot and finally answered. “It be better if you do the telling, Lady.” He swallowed and said, “The tall one, that Sidroc, he be in charge. He be down in the yard now.”

  I nodded. “I will go then and speak to him.” I thought of another service Mul might render. “You know the land about here, Mul. Is there a village or trev where I might take the prisoner? Some place safe where he could rest?” I bit my lip and spoke my fears. “I do not think I can keep him alive on the road.”

  Mul let out a long exhalation of breath. “There were trevs with huts aplenty from here to the coast before the Danes,” he began. “But the folk in them are all killed, or driven off.” He jerked his head and added, “There be my mother’s sister.”

  “Where does she live?” I questioned, heartened at this one hope.

  “‘Tis the problem; she and my cousin live no where and every where, and roam all about these parts.”

  I did not understand, and he went on, “If you speak to my mother, she can help you.”

  “Thank you, Mul, I will,” I answered.

  Ælfwyn had said nothing this whole time, but was delving in the weaving chest. She came up to Mul and gave him two silver pieces, and said, “Then you will have two horses ready late tonight.” He nodded his head. “I will not let you suffer if you are caught, Mul. Do not fear that,” she ended as he left, with a strength that, for that moment, overcame all our fears.

  I combed my hair quickly, and as there was no time to plait it, only covered it with a head-dress. Burginde came up to me and searched my face. “You be so pale,” she scolded gently, “and your eyes all red from weeping.” She pinched my cheeks to bring colour to them.

  I fastened on my bracelet and said to them both, “After I speak to Sidroc I will go on to Meryth’s. I will try not to be long.”

  Ælfwyn once again lay upon her bed. She nodded wordlessly, and I left.

  The yard was busier than I had ever seen, as the great stable was being cleaned with the change of horses. Osred stood at the head of a yoke of lowing oxen who dragged a wain piled with clean straw. A knot of horses circled outside the stable, straining at their neck ropes and pawing the ground and whinnying. I saw Mul, mounted on a horse and holding several others by their lead ropes.

  Sidroc walked out of the stable with another man, and I raised my hand to him. He came over, glancing at the silver disk on my wrist. I tried to smile at him as he came, but as he drew nearer could only think that if all went well, I was looking on his face for what must be the last time.

  I did not wait for a word of greeting. “Mul has told me that my bay mare is ready to be bred. I have come to ask that you take her and breed her to a horse of your choosing.”

  I think this surprised him more than anything I could have said, and as he looked at me I forced myself to look also into his face. He smiled, but it was a smile I had never seen before, serious and searching. He took a step closer to me.

  “My bay is at the camp right now,” he answered. “I will take her to him this noon.”

  I wondered if the colour came into my cheeks. I only knew that the gladness his face showed came from a false belief; and I felt ashamed. Then I did what I had never done. I reached out my hand, the one that bore his bracelet, and touched his hand. “I thank you, Sidroc,” I whispered.

  My eyes felt sore and dry, and for that I was grateful, for I feared I might weep. I drew back my hand before he could take it, and tho’ I dropped my eyes he looked at me carefully.

  “You are well?” he asked, more gently than I had ever heard him speak.

  I did not trust my voice, and only nodded. A Dane called out to him, and he turned his head for a moment to answer him. “Do not fear for your mare,” he went on. “I will make sure she is not hurt.”

  Again I nodded, and he said, “We will be away tonight, settling the horses, but I will see you tomorrow.” He moved closer to me, and I held my breath. “Your choice is a good one,” he said softly. “You will not regret it.”

  I walked so rapidly to Meryth’s hut that I was near out of breath when I reached it. Her husband sat on a bench nearby, working with an adze fashioning a plough handle from a tree bough. I did not expect him to be there, but since he would take the trappings to the horses he was an important part of my plan. I needs must trust him and speak freely before him.

  Meryth handed me a dipper of water, and I drank. “Meryth,” I began, “I will leave with the prisoner tonight, for he is sorely wounded and cannot ride without help. Mul told me that your sister might afford us shelter. Is this true?”

  “Lady?” she asked in wonder. “You will go?

  “Yes,” I said firmly.

  “And he is sore hurt?” asked Meryth, sorrow settling on her brow.

  “Yes, and I do not even know if he will live,” I answered. “Is it true your sister might help us?”

  She nodded her head, uncertain, and her husband rose up behind her. “Gwenyth be a good healer,” she said, “a powerful one, but -”

  “Gwenyth be turned a black witch,” said her husband in a hard voice, “and be as ready to kill a man as cure him.”

  “Arsuf, I ask you,” pleaded Meryth. He grumbled, but sat back down again at his bench.

  “She be hard to find; she has no fixed place to live, but she and her son wander about,” explained Meryth. “She is a very good healer, perchance the best, it used to be said, that ever lived here, but... she be... strange.”

  I gestured to her that I did not understand, and she went on. “The priest, God rest his soul, who was here at Four Stones, was cruel to her, and after a while she went...wild. She left, and never came back.” She thought for a moment. “She has a son; it is the son of Merewala, for when Gwenyth was young she was fine looking, and a favourite of the Lord’s. She bore him a son, but when it had reached two Summers in age, it became clear that it was an Idiot. Merewala would have no more to do with her, for he planned to marry again, and was fearful of it catching.” Her mouth twisted in pain as she spoke. “The priest made much of it, saying it was God’s mark upon a whore.”

  I could not see how this strange and fearsome woman could help me, nor how she could be found, but I asked. “If I could find her, do you think she might shelter us?”

  Meryth again shook her head, but then looked uncertain. “Perchance, Lady; I do not know. Perchance if you ask for my sake. I have always loved her, and she, I think, me, through it all.”

/>   “How could I ever find her?” I asked, more to myself than to Meryth.

  She disappeared into her hut and emerged with a brass bell. “Take this with you; ‘tis the way I find her; or she finds me, I should say. At this time of year she may be just South, along the glades that skirt the woods. Sometimes I have gone there and walked and rung this bell, and if she is within earshot, she comes.”

  I took the bell, and Meryth smiled down upon it and said, “‘Twas the bell of an old cow we had, when Gwenyth and I were but girls.”

  “You say she may be just South?” I questioned. “I will be circling around from the pond; will I find the glades you speak of?”

  “That you will, for the village stream splits, and one branch of it feeds the pond. Follow it. It grows wide in parts, with open glades on both sides, and thick woods beyond it. You can shelter in the woods when you need to.”

  “I thank you, Meryth, and if I find your sister will tell her of your goodness to me.” I turned to her husband, who still sat in grudging silence. “Arsuf, you have my great gratitude for your help.”

  He nodded his head, but shrugged at the same time. Meryth came forward and said, “May God bless and protect you, Lady.”

  I went back to the hall and up to our chamber. Ælfwyn lay still upon her bed; I do not think she moved since I left. Burginde sat upon my own bed, and had my leathern satchel before her, next to a pile of clothes.

  “Mul should be able to bring my mare tonight,” I told them, and tried to make my voice sound strong. “And Meryth has given me this bell to ring to help me find her sister.”

  “A bell to ring?” asked Ælfwyn faintly, and then turned her face away.

  I looked at the clothing Burginde was packing for me. Some of them were mine, but many of them were Ælfwyn’s.

  “I cannot take these things,” I began, pointing to the pile.

  Ælfwyn spoke from her bed, and her voice was dull. “You must take all that you can carry; for it may be all that you have for a long time. Also my things are fine, and can be sold or traded along the road.”

  I saw the wisdom in her words, and nodded my head. I stood there by my bed, watching Burginde roll the clothes and neatly fill the bag. Sun poured in from the windows, and cast all in a new brightness. Ælfwyn lay still, as if she were asleep. The Browny was curled into a ball on Burginde’s bed, safe and content. I brushed a tear off my cheek and went to the wall where my father’s seax hung. I placed it with the clothes, and brought forth my comb and mirror, and suchlike things, and set them on the bed in readiness. I thought again of Sidroc’s scarred face, and the look in his eyes when he said I would not regret my choice.

  Then I pictured Sidroc overtaking me and the dying Gyric in the fields or forests, and the single spear-thrust that would end Gyric’s suffering; and I saw Sidroc before me, his dark eyes flashing as he faced me.

  “How will you bring the young man up?” asked Burginde. “He may be too weak to walk.”

  I lifted my eyes to the rafters. I had not thought of this, but now I must; I could never carry him. How, too, would we get beyond the palisade wall? The small door by the kitchen yard was always bolted at dark.

  “I must have help,” I conceded. “A man, a strong one.” It must be some one already in the kitchen yard: Eomer. “I will go now and speak to Eomer,” I said.

  I found him at the grindstone, turning it with one hand as he held a butchery knife to it with the other. Sparks flew and it screamed as he sharpened it. His back was bent with age and his head was bald, but his arms and shoulders were still broad and strong. He did not stop in his work, but after a nod to me went on. I glanced about and saw a Dane across the yard at the cellar opening. It was yet again a different man.

  I turned back to Eomer and said, “Tonight there will be two horses hidden in the trees near where the Danes sacrifice. The prisoner is wounded, and I seek a man who will help him out of this place and to the horses.”

  Eomer kept his eyes upon his work, but said, “You have your man, Lady.”

  “The guard will be drugged again, but there still will be danger, perhaps great danger,” I warned him.

  “He be a man of Wessex, be he not?” asked Eomer slowly as he went on with his grinding. “I too be a man of Wessex, and Dobbe a woman thereof, and so our boy was of Wessex, tho’ he saw it never.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Who be the second rider?”

  “I will be,” I replied.

  He stopped now, and turned to me. “A maid like you?” he asked. He shook his head, but turned again to his stone.

  “There be a way out of this yard, that the Danes know not,” he told me. “‘Tis there by the stream; the panel above it slides open. We will get wet, and there is a sharp drop beneath it, but ‘tis not longer than a man’s height.”

  I looked over to where the kitchen stream flowed out of a small opening in the timber palisade. “That is good,” I said gratefully. “I do not know when I will come tonight, but it will not be too long after the hall sleeps. Ask Dobbe to again feed the guard as she did last night.”

  He nodded, and I left.

  Back in our chamber I sat down upon Burginde’s bed and stroked the tortoiseshell kitten in silence. She purred and curled her paws up over her little brown head in response. I looked down upon her, content and free from fear, and at that moment I could know nothing except my wish that everything be as it had been before the strange Danes came in the night with their tragic cargo.

  “Do not touch the weapons of the Dane who guards him,” said Ælfwyn from her bed. Her voice was quiet. “If he awakens and they are disturbed, he will sound the alarm at once. But if all seems normal, it may be many more hours before it is known that Gyric is gone.”

  “You are right,” I said, turning to her. She still lay without moving, facing the roof rafters above, and with her eyes closed. “I will have my seax; that will be enough.”

  She did not say more, but silently extended her hand to me. I rose and went to her, and sat upon her bed and held her hand. Both of us spoke not, for our fear and sorrow was too great for words.

  Burginde came in with a platter, and looked at us as she set it upon the table. “You must eat, both of you, and drink this good broth, too,” she gently scolded. She filled two cups and brought them to us.

  I took mine and drank, and rose up to go to the table, for I felt thirst and hunger and weariness all at once. But Ælfwyn moved not, tho’ Burginde stood over her with her cup.

  “You must eat and drink, and so stay strong,” she urged her, “for you will have need of strength these next few days.”

  Ælfwyn sat up at last and took the cup of broth, but would touch no food.

  I ate, and Burginde sat upon her stool and ate with me in silence. Then she said to me, “Lady, you must lie down and rest, and sleep if you can; for tonight there will be no rest for you.”

  I nodded, and pulled off my gown and lay down on my bed in my shift. The room was quiet. I heard Burginde take up her drop spindle and begin spinning, and that was all. I kept my eyes closed and tried to sleep, but fearsome images came to me: I saw Gyric dying on the road, from the hardship of our travels; or saw us being hunted like animals through the forest. The worst image of all was this: That I went that night to free him, and that he had died, alone and uncared for, in that miserable hole beneath us.

  I slept at last, and when I awoke the room was growing dim. Ælfwyn stood at the window, looking out at the darkening sky. Burginde brought water, and I bathed, and then she and Susa brought up our meal. Susa turned to me and said, “Dobbe says to tell you, All is well.”

  Susa looked uncomprehending, but I nodded my head and said simply, “I thank you.”

  Ælfwyn sat with me, and ate a little, but this time it was hard for me to eat, for my throat felt tight and dry. I drank broth and ale and sat listening as Burginde reviewed where my satchel was; and that Dobbe had made up food and drink for us; and
that Eomer would be ready for me.

  Then there was nothing to do but wait. Time crept along, and we heard the noise of the hall reach its height and then begin to lessen. We heard the tables being broken down, then the dragging and scraping of the trestles against the stone floor. It grew still.

  As the quiet grew beneath us, so too did the urge to speak. I said to Ælfwyn, “I will do all I can to find Meryth’s sister, and all I can to care for Gyric.”

  She raised her downcast eyes to mine, and answered, “Promise me that you will return... if...”

  “I will return, I swear it,” I said, so she would not have to finish.

  “I will keep Yrling from coming after you,” she said. “And I will beg Sidroc not to follow. But if anyone should hunt for you, I hope it will be he who finds you; for he will not be cruel to you.” Her words seemed strong, but there was fear in her eyes as she said this, and fear too in my breast.

  I could not answer this. I did not want to speak of what Sidroc might do. I unclasped his silver bracelet from my wrist for the last time, and pressed it into her hands. “Fare-well,” I said.

  “Fare-well,” she answered.

  I went to Burginde, and she took me into her arms and kissed me, and said, “Be well, Lady. I pray you be blest and protected.”

  Ælfwyn was before me, and we were in each other’s arms, and the tears we wept were for ourselves and for the leaving of the other and for the Fate of Gyric.

  “You will send a message,” she finally said.

  “I swear I will,” I answered. “Fare-well.”

  I tore myself away from her, and went to the door and opened it to the darkness below.

  Chapter the Forty-fifth: Darkness Into Dawn