“It is your ribs,” I said. For answer he only winced. “Will you sleep now?” I asked, not expecting an answer. “It is many hours until dawn.”
He nodded his head, and I sat down by him. I could not know if he slept, but I waited until my own weariness overcame me before I went and lay down myself. I pulled the coverlet over my head, too tired even for tears.
Chapter the Forty-eighth: We Tell Our Tales
DAYLIGHT awoke me, and I rose and looked about. Holt and Gwenyth were gone; they must be already afield.
I went to where Gyric lay. He was still, but did not breathe as if he slept. I sat down on the bench, wondering if I should speak to him, and wondering further what the day would bring. To free him from Four Stones so that he might live had been my only thought. Now that he did live I must think of his growing stronger that we might travel. I could not know if any Danes searched for us, or how long it was safe to stay in the camp, or if we endangered Gwenyth by keeping her and Holt here while Gyric mended.
As I sat there, thinking on all this, he moved his hand to his chest, and fingered the silver pin that held his mantle.
“This is not mine,” he said softly.
“No,” I answered. “But it is yours now.”
“Tell me again who you are,” he said, and his voice was quiet.
I was glad that he spoke, and glad too for the calmness in his voice. I moved closer to him and said, “My name is Ceridwen, and I am of Mercia.”
“You said your father is an ealdorman?” he asked, in the same low tone.
“That is true. His name was Cerd, and his lands were at the Western borders of Mercia, by the river Dee. But he died before my birth, and his brother Cedd raised me until he died as well.” He listened to this without moving.
“We are in Lindisse now?” was his next question.
“Yes, not far from the keep of Four Stones.”
“And you took me from there?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
“By yourself? Alone?”
“Yes, alone, but many there helped me free you.”
His thoughts now circled back, and he asked, “Which Dane now rules at Four Stones?”
I squeezed my hands together as I answered. “The same as that who conquered it: the jarl Yrling.”
“Yrling?” he asked, and there was in his voice disbelief and wonder. “The same that has wed a Lady of Cirenceaster?”
So he knew, and I must now tell him the rest. “Yes,” I began, watching his face as I spoke. “I was in the service of the Lady Ælfwyn there.”
His voice held no colour as he answered. “I heard last month that Ælfsige had made Peace with Yrling, with her as part of the prize.” He spoke as if all of this had happened long, long ago, in a distant past.
“It near broke her heart to go,” I said, recalling her journey to Four Stones.
He turned his head away, and was silent. Then he asked, “Did she see me? See me like this, at Four Stones?”
“No, no,” I reassured him. “When we first heard you were captive there, she thought only of a way to help you escape. It was before we - knew you were hurt. She wanted very much to see you, but the danger to her was too great. I went down to the cellar alone, four nights ago, and found you.” I slowed myself, wanting to speak carefully. “I saw you could not ride by yourself, and so planned to ride with you to safety.”
He was quiet a long time. “This was your choice, to leave with me?” he finally asked.
“Yes, my own; and I would not let any one stop me.”
“Why?” he asked. “Why did you do this?”
I could scarcely answer, my throat was so tight with tears. “I feared you might die.”
“You stole horses from the Danes?”
“One,” I answered. “The second horse was mine, a gift.”
“From... her?”
“No,” I said, biting my lip. “From one of the Danes. A nephew to Yrling.”
“O.”
I felt some urgency to go on. “Many at Four Stones helped me. The stable boy tied our horses in a safe place; his father had them ready saddled for us. The cook drugged the Dane that guarded you, and her husband carried you out of the cellar and to where our horses waited.”
He turned his head back to me, but did not speak. “We rode all night long, do you remember it?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I think I was cold,” he answered.
“Yes, I am sorry. You were wet, for we had to go down a stream bed to get out of the keep yard. Two days ago we found Gwenyth. She and her son live in the forest, and she is a powerful healer.”
“What day is this?” he asked.
I thought, and replied, “It is the thirteenth day of April.”
“Then it is Good Friday?” he asked.
“Yes,” I remembered. “Sunday is Easter Day.”
“How long was I at Four Stones?” he asked.
“Not long. You were brought only two days before I first saw you, and the next night we left.”
His voice was very low. “My family will think I am dead.”
I was quiet, thinking of the grief and uncertainty they must feel.
He spoke again, in the same low tone. “The prince saw me captured, but it was so long ago that all will think I am dead.”
“Do you mean Ælfred?” I questioned. “He is now King.”
“King? Æthelred is dead?”
“Yes, of wounds he took at a battle near Meredune. The Witan chose Ælfred to succeed him.”
This was much to take in. I tried to turn away from all this by saying, “I hope you will eat now. We have good provisions, and you must be very hungry.”
He raised himself on his elbow and said, “I want to stand up.”
“Yes,” I said. “Holt, Gwenyth’s son, is making you shoes. Until they are ready you must walk carefully.”
As he straightened himself the wrap around his empty eyes loosened and began to fall. He caught it up quickly and tied it around his head.
He swung his legs onto the ground and stood. His twisted mouth and furrowed brow told me that every part of his body must be sore. Now that he stood, I did not know where he wanted to go or what he wanted to do.
“I need to - to relieve myself,” he said, and lowered his head.
“O,” I said hastily, “yes. There is a trench; we are close to it.” I touched his arm. “Can you walk? It is not far.”
I led him across the clearing to the trench beyond the line of fir trees. He walked slowly, hesitating at each step. When we got to the trench, I stood, my face burning, next to him. I did not want to leave him, but I did not want to shame him.
“Here it is,” I said. “I will come back.”
I went to the fire and began to warm the broth, and took out bread and some cheese from the food pack. I went to the stream to draw water and filled the cauldron. I had been gone many minutes when I passed through the fir trees. Gyric stood close to where I had left him, only he faced another way.
“Gyric,” I said softly, so as not to startle him. He nodded his head, and turned towards me. He did not move, and I went up to him and touched his arm. I led him back to the clearing, and brought him to the bench. I filled a basin with warm water, and he washed his hands and wiped his face.
I laid the food out on the table before him and said, “Here is cheese and bread, and also broth.”
He put his hand out and found the bread. I sliced the cheese into thin cuts and placed them in his hand. He was, as I knew he must be, hungry, as his thin frame showed. Despite his hunger he did not eat quickly, but stopped often to take a sip of broth. I knew this was good, and that eating thus, he would keep his food down.
Trees crackled near us, and he started and began to rise. “It is Holt, and Gwenyth,” I said, and placed my hand on his arm.
Holt bore last night’s catch, a hare, over his shoulder, and in Gwenyth’s hands were bunches of wild c
ress. They came to the table but did not speak, and I felt awkward. Gwenyth kept her cool blue eyes upon Gyric, but I could not read her thoughts.
“Gwenyth and her son took us in and sheltered us,” I said to Gyric.
He was silent for a moment, and then said, “I thank you for your help.” He held his head down, and his voice was so low that I just heard him.
“I did little,” Gwenyth answered at last. She looked from me to him, and then walked into the shelter. Holt had moved away from the table and had returned clutching a piece of hide. His face wore his lopsided grin, and he crouched down near the fire and set to work upon the other shoe for Gyric.
We sat alone at the table while Gwenyth skinned the hare and boiled water. Gyric had stopped eating, and I tried to get him to take more, but he shook his head.
“Are you weary? Will you lie down again?” I asked, not knowing what to do next.
He moved his head slightly, but I could not tell what he meant by it.
“Your ribs are still sore. You need rest while they mend,” I went on, feeling like I was babbling.
He did not answer, and his head was sunk so low that his chin almost touched his chest.
I looked around the little camp for light which did not come. “Perhaps you would like to be by yourself,” I ventured. I began to rise. “I will go and check the horses,” I said.
For answer he put his hand out in the air as if he would catch my arm. “Do not go,” he said, in a voice barely above a whisper.
I moved my hand to where his still reached, outstretched, towards me.
“I will not go,” I said quietly, and sat down. He touched my hand with his own for a moment.
We sat in silence for a long time. Gyric was still, with his head lowered. The morning Sun glanced through the trees and struck his back, and the red-gold waves of his hair shone on his shoulders. There was a lightness and spareness about him, as if boy and man were mixed within him. I sat mutely by his side and regarded him, and for a time he too spoke not.
“What will you do now?” asked Gyric in a low voice.
The question surprised me, so deep was I in my own thoughts.
“Do?” I responded. “When you are well enough, we will quit this place and begin our journey to Wessex.”
He did not answer, so I went on. “Gwenyth has sheltered us, but soon she and her son will wish to be off. When you are strong enough we will begin our journey. We have two good horses, and a full kit to travel with. Also we have much gold and silver jewellery, and many silver coins, all from Ælfwyn.”
Finally he spoke. “You will travel with me, all the way from Lindisse to Wessex?”
“Of course,” I answered. “You must get home to Kilton, to your people.”
He moved his head a little, but did not turn to me. “We are a very long way from Kilton, and there is nothing but danger upon the roads.”
“There is danger everywhere now. But what else can we do?”
He shook his head slowly. “Why - why did you do this? Why did you take me from Four Stones?”
I thought for a moment. “It is as I told you last night. When Ælfwyn found you were a prisoner, all she could think about was helping you escape. Then I found you could not ride alone, so that is why I am here.”
“You are risking your life for me, every moment.” I did not answer right away, and he went on. “You left Ælfwyn, and the life you had in her service, to do this.”
“Yes,” I answered, “and I love her, and will miss her.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “When we are safe in Wessex I will send her a message; she begged that I might do so.”
He kept his face in profile to me, and his next words were a whisper. “Is she well?”
“She is well,” I said softly. “She went to Four Stones for the good of her people, and she went loving you.” Tears were now come into my eyes, and I brushed them away. “Since she has been at Four Stones she has done many good works for the folk there, and has relieved them greatly. She is building up flocks of sheep, and having the fields sown, and has shown her wisdom again and again to the Danes.”
Gyric did not move or respond to any of this, but sat as still as if he were deaf and mute. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “And she is wed to Yrling?”
“Yes,” I said. I cast around for what to say next, and the truth came forward. “Tho’ he is a Dane, he is good to her, and esteems her greatly.”
He moved his head, as if he nodded. “And you,” he finally said, “how did you come to know her? I never met you at Cirenceaster.”
“No, I have never seen that place, or any part of Wessex. I was raised by the river Dee, and travelled upon the Northly Road, and there met Ælfwyn and her train as they went to Four Stones.”
“How came you to travel there?” he asked, and turned slightly to me.
“I left the Priory to seek a station. It was Winter, and I met bad weather upon the road. Ælfwyn kindly took me in and offered me a place with her in her new life.”
I saw Gyric’s brow furrow as he formed his next question. “You left a Priory?”
“Yes,” I said quickly. “But I did no wrong. I had come of age, and did not wish to wed the men the Prior had chosen for me, nor did I have a calling for the veil.”
“How old are you?”
“I will have sixteen years this Summer.”
“You are a maid of sixteen?” he asked, his brow furrowing more.
“Yes,” I answered, as simply and as firmly as I could.
He shrugged. He put his hand up as if he would rest his brow in his palm, but when his fingers touched the wrap that covered his wound he stiffened and put his hand down again.
I did not have a chance to say more, for suddenly Holt was before us, holding out his huge hands. “Shoes,” he sang out, and grinned.
“They are very good, Holt,” I praised, looking at them. They were cut from the thickest part of the deer hide, and stitched with leathern cords, and had a leathern lacing up the side by the ankle to fit them.
Gyric turned towards Holt but said nothing. I took the shoes and placed them in Gyric’s hands.
“Thank you,” he said, but in his quiet voice there was a note of frustration.
He began to bend over to put one on. He winced from the effort, and I asked, “Shall I do it?”
He straightened, and I knelt down and placed his foot in the shoe and laced it up, and did the same to the other.
“Now you can walk more freely,” I said, and thought at once what a stupid thing it was to say. Gyric said nothing, and Holt still stood before us, grinning. I remembered the iron spear point in my satchel.
“Holt,” I asked, rising to fetch the bag, “do you think you could make a shaft for this point?”
I drew the spear tip out and passed it into his giant hands. He held it up and looked at the hollow for the shaft. He turned it around and around in his hands; I thought he had no idea what it was.
“Spear,” he said.
“Yes, a spear,” I answered. “Could you fit a shaft to it?”
He nodded his head, and once again drew his knife from his belt.
I went on, “Make it as tall as you.”
Gyric sat silent through this all, and Holt lumbered away with the spear point.
“You have a spear point?” he asked when I sat back down.
“Yes, a good one, and very sharp. I found it in my bag. Ælfwyn or her nurse must have put it there.” He said nothing, and I went on, “It will be useful, as a walking staff.”
I went to my other bag and returned with the black belt and seax. “We have this, too,” I said, pressing it into his hands. “It is, I think, a gift from Dobbe, the cook. She is a woman of Wessex, and drugged the Dane who guarded you.”
His fingers moved slowly over the belt and rested on the leathern scabbard. He touched the silver hilt of the seax, and his fingers closed around the carved bone grip and drew it forth. With his other ha
nd he cautiously followed the curve of the polished blade.
He did not speak, and I went on. “It must be the seax of Merewala himself. I have never seen one of such worth. It is by far the most valuable thing we carry with us.”
He fitted the blade back into the scabbard, and then lifted the belt to me.
“No, it is for you,” I said. “I have a knife, my father’s old seax.”
He paused, but then stood and found the buckle ends and strapped the belt around his waist so that the weapon lay across his belly. His right hand moved to position the scabbard, and he slowly drew the seax forth again. He held it a moment, and then guided it back into the sheath.
This simple act filled me with something like gladness, tho’ my throat caught.
He sat back down again, and rested his hands on his knees. “You said Ælfred is now King,” he said quietly.
“Yes, we heard it just a few days ago. Æthelred died from his battle wounds, from a place called Meredune. Your Witan met and chose his young brother as King.”
He was silent, and I went on, “You are his kin, are you not? Ælfwyn once told me that your father and Ælfred’s father were as brothers.”
“We are kin, but closer in our hearts than we are in blood.”
I almost said how glad Ælfred would be to learn that Gyric was alive, but stopped myself. “Ælfwyn says your father is a great chieftain, and ealdorman of Kilton.”
For answer he nodded. “What else do you know?” he asked in a low voice. “You must have seen and heard much from a jarl as crafty as Yrling.”
“Not, perhaps, as much as you think; for the Danes used to speak their own tongue before us, except for Yrling himself, and his nephews, who spoke our language as well.” I thought of what I could tell him that would have meaning. “I know that many more Danes are coming this Summer, when the seas are calm, to join Yrling. They think they will rule Wessex and Mercia as they do Lindisse and Northumbria.”
After a while he said, “You have seen them. What do you think?”
I thought before I answered. “They are very good warriors,” I began, “but they are strange. They do not value the things we value. They do not pledge to each other, and even tho’ Yrling feeds and arms his men they leave whenever they find a richer Lord to serve or a fatter land to take.” Then in fairness I went on, “But the same things that give us joy gladden them too: gold and horses and song and fine things, and good food, and the hope for glory.”
The Circle of Ceridwen: Book One of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga Page 37
