They stopped their hoeing as they saw us, and the old woman went to them, pushing through a wattle gate and tying the piglet to the open door of the hut. I reined our horses in and spoke to Gyric in a low voice, telling him all that was before us. As we waited there, two girl children came around from the back of the hut and stared at us across the low fence.
The second woman came forward, wiping her hands on her apron. She was young and rather comely, but her eyes had a quick roving quality that made me look about us. I moved my mare so that I was well in front of Gyric. The woman did not speak, but nodded at me in greeting.
“We are seeking food,” I began, trying to keep my voice steady and calm. “We will pay in silver for what you can spare.”
“We have grain, wheat and barley both,” she answered. Her eyes were everywhere: on my gown, my mantle, our horses, and most of all, I thought, resting on the face of Gyric, with its linen wrap over the eyes.
“That is good,” I said. I looked at a few hens scratching in the grit at the hut’s door. “And have you also eggs?”
“We have many eggs, Lady,” she answered.
“And have you any meat?”
Her eyes darted back to mine, and then she admitted, “Stag meat, smoked.”
“Good. Do you go and boil a score of eggs, and we will take them, and a haunch or equal of your smoked deer, and a measure of wheat, and a measure of barley.”
“As you wish, Lady,” she replied. She turned her back on us, and went about gathering that which I had asked for. I edged my mare back to Gyric and spoke to him.
“They live here alone, one hut only. They are not charcoal-burners or wood-cutters, from the looks of things. I do not understand it,” I told him, looking at the tiny farmstead.
“Likely they are outlaws,” replied Gyric. I started a bit, but he went on, “The son she did not mention may live, and the whole family of them be in hiding here.”
I looked again at the hut. “That would explain the newness of things. The hut and wall look fresh.”
“Like as not the son is about; be wary,” warned Gyric in a low voice.
I turned and scanned the circle of stone again. The old man worked alone in his row of beans. The woman had disappeared into the hut. Now she came forth carrying a large chunk of dried meat, through which the bone rose. The old woman stood at the cooking pot, and the two children were running to her from around the back of the hut, their little hands clutching eggs.
“I see no sign of a man, save the old one,” I told Gyric. “But I will watch the hut door carefully.”
My eyes roamed from the door to the crops rising from the dark soil of the croft. “Peas,” I said, not able to quell my excitement.
I called over to the young woman, “Have you peas to spare? We will have them if you do.”
She nodded her head and set the two girls to work gathering the pods.
“Gyric, we will have fresh peas,” I breathed, my mouth watering at the thought.
For answer he said, “Keep wary.”
I drew myself up and watched all around us with care. The young woman came to us and took up the smoked stag haunch, a knife in her hand. She shaved off a sliver which she handed to me. I tasted it, rich and smoky and savoury, and said, “It is good.”
I unlashed our empty food bag and gave it to her, and she knelt upon the ground and fitted the huge joint into it. The old woman came forth with two small sacks with drawstring ties. She pulled them open before me that I might look within. One held kernels of golden wheat, and the second tiny pearls of winter barley.
The eggs were cooked and fished out of the cauldron and tied into a rope net. The young woman held the eggs before me, that I might see them, and then lowered them into our food bag.
Lastly the children came forth, their aprons overflowing with bright green pea pods. These they dropped into the bag, and the young and old women both lifted it, and with them holding it steady I turned in my saddle and tied it through the iron saddle rings.
“I thank you for your help,” I said. I reached in the black pouch at my waist and drew forth a piece of silver.
The old woman came to me, eyes glinting, and I handed the coin to her. She clasped it tightly in her brown fist, and grinned in satisfaction.
I looked down upon them and in parting said, “You have not seen us.”
The young woman looked up at me and returned, “You have not seen us, Lady.”
I nodded at her, and turned our horses back along the stream bed to our creek.
“You did well,” Gyric said to me when we were away.
This praise made me blush; I felt the warmth on my cheek. I recalled the way the younger woman and I had eyed each other. “You must have been right about them being outlaws. Each of us wanted to know the other’s story, but neither of us would ask.”
“No one must know our story,” said Gyric.
“Of course not,” I returned.
He gave a sound almost like a laugh. “You said I was your brother. You think quickly.”
“I did not want to say your name, and it was the first thing I could think of,” I explained
The morning Sun felt delicious against my back, and now that we had provisions for many days the fear of our going hungry vanished like the dew drops on the grasses we walked through. We rounded a bend in the creek, and in a clearing to one side grew a copper beech, alone and majestic, standing out in front of the larch and maple trees like a queen before her court. Her unfolding leaves were tinged with gold and green and seemed to beckon to me.
“I want to stop a moment,” I said to Gyric.
I slipped off my mare and dug in the food bag until my hand touched the netting which held the eggs. They were still hot to the touch, and I pulled one of them through the mesh. I went to the base of the copper beech and lay the egg in the great swelling fingers of its roots. I touched my lips to the silvery bark of the trunk.
I turned back to our horses. Gyric was sitting attentively on his gelding, his face turned directly towards me. I wondered for one moment if I would have done this thing if he were sighted. I wondered next if I should tell him what I had done. I thought I could guess what he thought of the worshipers of the Old Gods: That heathens were savages. He might feel shock or surprise or perhaps amusement, and I did not want my gift to give rise to any of these thoughts in him.
Then I felt a twinge for having given as an Offering one of our precious eggs. They belonged to both of us, and I should not surrender one without Gyric knowing of it. I shook my head to myself, and said inwardly, That is my egg for today. So in the end I said nothing.
We rode on, and the day was kind to us, filled with light breezes and true warmth. Along the way we stopped as I spotted dock and sorrel and the broad leaves of plantain beneath our horse’s hooves. I gathered their fresh new leaves, remarking more than once to Gyric, “We shall feast today!”
My heart felt light as we travelled on. We had had no sign of anyone following us; we had safely procured food in abundance; and we made, I thought, good progress on our way. These things seemed much to be grateful for, but as I spoke to him of all this he made but little answer.
That night when we camped I worked up the feast I had promised. I boiled the peas and we ate them first, sweet as honey. The dock and sorrel and plantain leaves I stewed with shreds of the smoked stag, and made broth which I bottled in our jugs for the morrow. I added barley to what remained and boiled it until we had a thick browis. I sprinkled upon it a bit of salt from my twist, and it made a dish fit for those in a timber hall.
Gyric ate of all this, and had an egg also, so he ate more that night than he had ever before on our journeying; but tho’ he praised the food, he did not eat with relish. I watched him as he ate, and saw that the sadness in him made the savour of all good things pale.
Chapter the Fifty-fourth: The Work of My Hands
THE next day the creek that we were following dipped down into a
sort of ravine. We reached the bottom, and found that it vanished in a boggy pool. We climbed the side of the ravine and stepped out of a line of scrubby trees.
“O,” I said, all in surprise. A road, empty of all travellers, lay before us in the narrow clearing. “Here is a Cæsar’s Road, Gyric, for it is made of cut stones, dressed so they fit together.”
“Cross it, quick,” he directed.
I took another look up and down and then pulled him and the horses across. We entered the trees on the other side, and went not far before we heard our creek burble up again. We stopped and stood side by side on the mossy edge of it.
“I wonder if that is the same road that Ælfwyn’s waggons travelled,” I said. “I did not recognise it, but the trees were thick about it, with no landmarks.”
“This is the fifth day since we started,” he recalled. “As slow as we have travelled, we could not have gone far South. Likely it is the same road.”
“Do you think we are still in Lindisse?” I asked. It was strange, looking around at the trees, to think we were anywhere other than a peaceful woods.
“I think we are, yes.”
I had a new thought. “How will we know when we reach Mercia?”
“We will have to ask, when we find someone safe. The borders will not be patrolled. Besides,” he added, “they keep changing.”
“So you think there is war right now?” I asked. The Sun was dappling through the branches over our heads, and the air was sweet with bird song. War was hard to think of.
“I know it. We must expect war all along the Eastern edges of Mercia, and the Northern edges of Wessex.”
“I know it, too,” I admitted, remembering the streams of horsemen who had passed through Four Stones on their way South. The faces that filled the hall each night at Four Stones came before my eyes. “They think they will win, Gyric,” I began, “and all of Wessex and Mercia be taken by them, just as they have taken Lindisse and Northumbria and Anglia.”
He considered this for a moment, then spoke with a grim voice. “All warriors think they will win. You cannot fight if you do not.”
“Burgred’s army is great, is it not?” I asked. “And the army of Ælfred, it is greater still?”
“King Burgred has troubles within his own country, just as Ælfred has them in his. Ealdormen and rich thegns try to make a separate peace with one Dane or another, and do not answer the call of the King. Or they themselves wish to be King, and grudge that the Witan chose another.”
“A separate peace - that is what Ælfsige did,” I murmured. “He tried to make a peace with Yrling, and sent some of his thegns in place of himself and his best men to Æthelred.”
“Yes,” answered Gyric with bitterness. “He sold away what was most dear to him; gave away his greatest treasures, and now the Danes will raven at what remains.”
He fell quiet, and I stood by his side as our horses snapped off tender branch tips in their reach. When Gyric spoke again, his voice was clear. “I heard the treasure he sent was great. Yrling will only use it to arm his men against us.”
“It was a great treasure,” I answered softly. “But the riches Yrling keeps in his hall is greater still. Swords and spears and fur pelts of splendid beasts, and ring shirts and helmets.”
“Saxon booty,” snorted Gyric.
“Yes, Saxon; and stuffs from the lands of the Franks, and silks and oils from the farthest points of the East, and gold and silver arm-rings and bracelets and rings and pins from every land.”
“And are they generous with it?” he wanted to know. His voice was filled with disdain.
“Yes,” I answered, feeling ashamed to have had any part of it. “They are generous.”
I felt badly now, and said nothing more. He must have sensed my thought, for he said, “Their generosity gave you a good horse, and you have used it against them. That is what matters.”
I felt even worse now, for I saw again the face of Sidroc as he drew close to me in the bustling keep yard when I asked him to take my mare and breed her to his stallion. I had deceived him - betrayed him, in a way - leaving only the bracelet of heavy silver to ask pardon for me. My hand closed over my bare wrist which had borne that bracelet, and I know I sighed in my shame.
Gyric moved his head, and asked in a low voice, “What troubles you?”
“Nothing,” I lied. His mouth moved, and I knew this answer would not suffice. “I am only remembering, that is all.”
“Did he love you?” he asked. “Yrling’s kinsman, Sidroc?” The words were simply spoken, but they jolted me.
“I do not know.”
“But he wanted you.”
“He wished to wed me,” was all I could answer.
“Would you, if you had stayed?”
“I did not stay.”
My mare came up beside me and bumped me on the shoulder. I cupped my hand on her downy muzzle and moved a little away with her. I did not want to speak of these things, and I did not want to hear Gyric ask of them. There was an edge in his voice, an edge of anger or of bitterness.
“Does Ælfwyn know happiness?” he asked. His voice was barely above a whisper.
I turned on him. “No, she is not happy. She was forced by her father to leave her home and travel far to marry a man who is a great enemy to her people. She did this loving another man - you. None of this was her choice, but she went, for the good of Cirenceaster. Now she knows there will be war anyway, and she thinks the Peace her father made will be worthless. Then to add to her trouble, she finds that you are held a prisoner at Four Stones. She risked her life, far more than I did, in every way that she helped you; for her husband would have rightly slayed her if she had been caught. Then I had to tell her that you had been wounded. I thought her grief would kill her. Now she has had to stay behind, begging the men of Four Stones not to pursue us. She has to protect not only herself, but all those who aided us in our escape, lest their part be found out. She does not know how we fare, or even if you live, and we cannot imagine the sorrow or danger she herself may be in. No, I do not think she is happy.”
I felt each of my words must have fallen like blows upon Gyric’s head, but I spoke the truth, and he must hear it.
At last he answered, with another question. “Yet you said Yrling is good to her?”
“Yes, he is. He has been kind to her, has given her many freedoms and listens to her speech at table. He is a far better man than he could be.”
I thought of how the lot of the folk of Lindisse had improved since Ælfwyn’s coming. “She is raising the villagers from wretchedness to hope again. She has brought back the men of the village who were in hiding, has had seed grain brought from Jorvik so that the fields are again being tilled, and has started up a flock of sheep so that both hall and village might be clothed. She has done all of this for a place she never wished to see.”
He did not say more, tho’ from the way he held his head I felt he listened well. We had stood still for many minutes, and were not far from the road; we must go deeper into the trees.
I looked about us, gauging what we should do. The creek on this side of the ridge was narrower and more twisted, and the ground more uneven.
“I think you should ride, while I lead our horses. The way is rough with tree roots and stones,” I told him.
He swung his head as if roused from a dream. “I want to walk,” he answered.
“It is hard walking, even for me,” I reasoned. “Riding will be faster; and safer, too, if you duck down when I tell you to.”
I knew he did not like to ride while I led our horses; he wanted either to walk with me or for both of us to ride. I could only guess that being led while I walked made him feel more helpless than when we both rode, even tho’ in both instances the reins of his gelding were tied to the saddle rings of my mare.
He turned and felt for the ties on his saddle, and began with no further word to lash his spear. He pulled himself up upon his horse.
> We did not make fast progress that afternoon, for the creek led us through ground that heaved with stones. I began to look for a place to spend the night earlier than usual, for I wanted to use what daylight we still had to sew. Also, the slow speed of our advance was wearing on both of us. My feet were sore through my thin-soled boots, and Gyric was tired of being told to lean over his horse’s neck to avoid being hit by a leafy bough.
I found a bit of a glade, with enough grass in it to support our horses for the night, and with an alcove of rock hard by the creek to hold our fire. When we had unsaddled the horses and unpacked our kit I began gathering dead wood so I might have plenty for our fire. The sky above the trees was clear and just beginning to fade of its colour.
I set and lit our fire, and filled our small cauldron with water. Then I rummaged in my satchel and pulled out my sewing kit, the beautiful pair of shears Ælfwyn had put in, and one of my fine linen head wraps.
Gyric lay back upon the ground, bolstered by his saddle, and I sat cross-legged upon my sheepskin nearby. I fingered the wrap I had taken out, knowing by the fineness of the thread that it must be one that Burginde had spun for. The thought of her plump plain face and ready humour brought a smile to my lips, and a twinge of loss within my breast. I smoothed the head wrap before me, and picked up the sharp shears and cut it in thirds. I threaded up a needle with linen thread, and took one of the new-cut pieces of fabric and folded back a hem, and began my work.
“Is it dark yet?” Gyric asked, as I pulled my needle through the fine linen cloth. He lay tracing the designs on the hilt of his seax with his fingers.
“No, it is far from dark. I wanted to stop because I have things to do which want light. I am sewing now.”
The Circle of Ceridwen: Book One of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga Page 41
