Cadmar took up his basket and lines, and we followed him along the stream through the woods. The ground rose a bit and there was the place that Cadmar had built his weir, for I could see the tops of the wicker-work poking through the green water.
We sat beneath the willows, and Cadmar dug for red worms with a little spade he took from his basket, and then both he and Gyric baited the hooks, and tied the thread lines to willow wands which Cadmar cut fresh.
Sure enough, the fish were both hungry and hasty. One of the lines began to move at once, and Gyric drew it up; but as the fish upon it was small, Cadmar cast it back in again. But we did not wait long, for soon the line Cadmar held was tugged, and he grasped it and pulled up a fine fat bream. This went into the basket, and then I felt a strong tug on the wand I held, and drew it up with a shining bream flapping and spraying droplets of water on the still surface of the pool. I was so happy I laughed, and as Cadmar caught up my line and guided the fish to him, Gyric also had one fast on his line, and in this way quickly had ten or twelve fine bream.
The basket was filled, but we did not rise and leave, for it was pleasant sitting together on the mossy bank. The Sun fell down upon us, and broke through the slender arms of the willows and dappled us with light. The sweetness of Summer seemed full upon us, tho’ it be but the middle of May.
We sat quietly, each in our own thoughts, and perhaps it was the sweetness and safety of the place that made Gyric say what he did. “Cadmar,” he asked, and turned a little to him. “If my uncle needed you, would you come?”
The monk had been leaning back on the moss. Now he sat up, and looked hard at Gyric. His answer was a question, and very slow. “Come? Come as what? As what I was in the world, or what I am now? Come to fight, or to pray?”
“To fight.”
“I am done with all that.”
“You have been gone from the world for three years. You do not know how grave the danger is. When you fought for my uncle, the Danes would come in Summer and raid, and then be gone again. Now they do not go, but Winter here as well, and each month more sail the Northern Sea and come to our shores. But they do not come only to plunder and sail off, but to plunder and then to stay. Four Kingdoms have fallen already, and Wessex and Mercia will be sore pressed this Summer.”
This was much the same news Gyric had told Cadmar the night before, but today Gyric spoke of Cadmar as being a part of it. Cadmar listened with the grave attention he had shown last night, but shook his head slowly in response to Gyric’s words.
“I have forsaken the world. Your uncle released me from my pledges to him. I will fight no more.”
“Would you not fight even for my father?”
Cadmar thought on this, and then said, “Godwulf is the greatest ealdorman in Wessex. His thegns have greater glory than any save the King’s.”
“Yes, and Godwulf keeps all his thegns with such an open hand that they all praise him. He is ever generous with silver and arms and horses and food and drink, and every thegn in his hall wears a silver arm-ring given by his hand, and the men who sit at Godwulf’s own table wear a golden arm-ring given by him. Every man of his will gladly die for him. But all his many thegns are not now enough, and my father now arms and trains the best of the young ceorls in Kilton, and soon, too, I think, will arm even the cottars, for he knows every man will be needed. He spoke of these things to me and my brother before I left. This is how grave our need is.”
“I will not kill again,” uttered Cadmar, but as he said this he ground his teeth.
But Gyric would not relent. “Would you not fight for me, who was crippled by the Danes?”
For answer Cadmar clapped his hand to his brow, and groaned. Still Gyric went on. “Cadmar, the loss of one such arm as yours is great, and becomes greater day by day. There are priests that fight; and Abbots too who take up arms, as you well know.”
“I am no trained priest, strong in holiness; only a simple watcher.”
“You are one of the best warriors in the Kingdom.”
“No. I am grown old, and have lost my taste for war.”
Gyric tried one more time. “Your sons were killed by jarl Healfdene’s men. Healfdene will be back in Wessex soon.”
Cadmar’s answer was silence. It was hard to sit there and listen to all this; hard because of the pain in Cadmar’s face as he protested the charge that Gyric would have him take up; and hard too to think of what might befall all of Wessex before long.
Cadmar was still quiet, and at last Gyric spoke. “I am sorry, old friend. This is the path you have chosen, and I must honour you for it.”
And Gyric lifted his hand in friendship into the space between them, and Cadmar grasped it at once. The monk did not speak, but wore his trouble on his face, where he could not hide it from me. Gyric, too, seemed troubled, perhaps because he had caused Cadmar pain, but also because he thought much of what lay before us all.
When we finally rose and headed back to the hermitage the Sun was nearly overhead in the sky. I looked about the tiny clearing. Cadmar lived here, wanting nothing, in peace and safety. It was not hard for me to see why he should wish to remain.
Cadmar bid us stay and dine with him before we set off. I brought out loaves and Cadmar flayed open the fish and cleaned them and ran them through with green sticks. These he roasted over the fire. We sat at his table and ate, and the sad words of the morning seemed forgotten.
The Sun was truly over our heads, and Gyric and I began to pack for our leavetaking. Our horses had had a good rest, and the grass all about the clearing was cropped short as proof of it. Cadmar helped us as we saddled them, and he looked them over carefully and said, “These are fine beasts.”
Gyric was pulling tight his gelding’s girth strap. “They are taken from the Danes,” he said, and this was the only reminder of their solemn speech of the morning.
Cadmar nodded his head, and looked again lost in his own thoughts.
We lashed our packs upon our saddles, and as Cadmar had forced all the rest of the roasted fish upon us our food pack was no less full than it had been when we had arrived. The monk would take no silver, even when Gyric asked him to, as a wedding-boon. They clasped hands again, and Gyric and I called out Fare-well one last time, and turned away from the monk and his solitude. We retraced our steps down the path, and as I walked I thought of what had happened there just the day before. The narrow pathway had not led to misery and abandonment, but to the joy of my wedding Gyric, of hearing him pledge to me, and of pledging to him. Everything had changed in a moment on that pathway, and all because I at last spoke my heart to him, and he answered.
We came out to the edge of the trees to where the stream ran, and before we mounted our horses Gyric held me close. And as we kissed there the Sun shone full on our faces, and I knew that Gyric felt its warmth upon his cheek, for he lifted his face to it.
I whispered “Life is sweet, is it not?” and for answer he kissed me again.
“If we do not stop this, we will never go far today,” he said at last, and in truth I did not care if we stayed right there and went no farther.
But stop we did, and swung onto our horses, and set out.
Chapter the Sixty-fifth: Treasure Like This
GYRIC felt it was now safe to ride upon the road we found, and so we did, with the Sun at our right shoulders. This road was a good one, of hard and smooth clay, well-made and well-kept. We could have cantered if we had wanted, for there was no danger of our horses catching their hooves, but I did not suggest it, nor did Gyric. After a while he said, “Ceridwen, I do not want to meet anyone before we reach Kilton.”
“You mean, if I see folk upon the road, we should not come upon them?”
“Yes. It is safer that way; but it is not only that.” He twisted his fingers in his gelding’s black mane. “I do not want to be seen by someone who knows me. They would want to go ahead to Kilton, and tell my family I still live, and tho’ it may seem unkind, I do not want thi
s. I want to go to my parent’s hall in my own way, and time.”
“I understand, of course I do.”
He nodded his head. “I knew you would.”
He reached out his hand for mine, and when he had it pressed it to his lips. “Is there a place here to stop?” he surprised me by asking. “Or is it all woods on both sides?”
“I think there is a little clearing beyond the trees, just to one side of us.”
“I want to stop, just for a while,” he said, and squeezed my hand.
“Yes,” was all I answered, and we got down from our horses. I led them through the scrub-trees, Gyric walking by his gelding’s side. I tied the horses, and then I was in Gyric’s arms, and he was kissing me so that I could not catch my breath, nor did I wish to.
“I want to kiss you all over,” he whispered.
I pulled out our sheepskins and we fell upon them. And he did kiss me everywhere, and I too was bold, and stroked and touched every part of his beautiful body.
I knew I was clumsy as I did this, and thought I should feel shy of what I did, but did not; for the joy of being with him in this way, and the sheer beauty of him, and the way in which he gave his body to me left no room in me for shyness or fear. He was gentle with me in every way, even when his desire for me was greatest, and when at last we lay quiet he pressed my hand over his heart with great tenderness. We dozed for a while, and when the Sun was slanting to the West finally dressed and came out upon the road again.
We travelled upon the good clay road, and no one saw us, for when we heard someone before or behind we went into the trees until they passed out of sight. But this only happened twice, so it was not a hardship. At dusk we came to a cross-roads, marked by a huge stone dolmen. As I built our fire that night Gyric said, “We are on my father’s lands. This is Kilton.”
“It is?”
I looked around me, expecting something different. The forest was much like all we had ridden through in Wessex.
“Yes. As soon as we crossed the road by the dolmen, we were in Kilton.”
“Then you know this place well.”
“Yes. I have hunted many times in this very forest.”
It grew dark as we sat there side by side, and I looked up into the heavens. “The Swan is flying across the sky, and the Bear is chasing it,” I told Gyric, looking at the star patterns above us. One of the wanderers was bright, and looked blue in the warm night.
“Why do the wanderers not travel with the rest of the stars?” I asked him.
“I do not know,” he answered, and raised his own face to the sky. “They are so much larger than the other stars.”
“They are leaders, not followers,” I decided. I leaned my head against his shoulder. “You are a leader too, Gyric. Your speech is such that would inspire any man. When you spoke to Cadmar, I saw that he struggled within him, for your words struck him to the core.”
“Men do not lead only with words. Action is what is most needed.”
“‘Words inspire action,’” I remembered.
“Is that from the Holy Book?”
“No. It is something Woden said after he gave the gift of rune-writing to his people.”
“I do not recall that,” he mused. “You know more sagas than I. But,” he went on, “it is a good saying: ‘Words inspire action.’ And it is true.”
I sat quietly next to him, not wanting or needing to speak more. The time for sleep grew near, and we undressed and lay down together. Just feeling his naked skin against mine was pleasure enough.
At dawn I sensed he was already awake, tho’ he lay still beside me. I touched his cheek, and he took my hand at once. “Is it light?” he asked.
“It is just dawning now,” I told him.
He pressed his warm body against mine and I put both my arms around him. He began to kiss my face and lips, and with his slender fingers to stroke my breasts. But he stopped, and lowered his face next to mine. His hands were still and he did not move.
I stroked his back and touched his hair, and wondered what was wrong. His shoulders began to shake, as if he wept, and I held him fast in my arms. He pulled away from me, but kept his hand upon my face.
“Gyric,” I whispered.
He shook his head and laid his face against mine, but pulled back again. “I want to see you,” he cried out. “I will never see you. Cadmar said you were beautiful. I want to see you!”
He fell back upon his sheepskin, facing the lightening sky, the wrap about his wound as blank as what it hid. There were no words within me that could answer him. I fell upon him and began to kiss his white brow, and his cheeks and chin and lips, and the tears that streamed from my eyes wet his face and hair. I wept the tears that he could not, and wept them for us both, for we both were denied through the loss of his eyes.
Suddenly he was full of anger. “Why did you not let me die?” he asked, and each word fell as if he had struck me.
But I could not pull back from him, and buried my face in his chest and sobbed. The image of Gwenyth rose up in my mind, and I heard her terrible words, warning me that a part of Gyric would never forgive me.
My own anger stirred within me, and I was able to make steady my voice. “I wanted you to live, that is why. I risked everything for that.”
“O, God,” he groaned, and put both of his hands over his wrap. “Forgive me. O Ceridwen, forgive me.”
I put my hands over his. “I do not need to forgive you. I know your anger is not meant for me. Your anger is just. But do not let it come between us, Gyric. That I could not bear, after all we have suffered together.”
He let me move his hands, and then he enfolded mine, and pulled my face to his. “No man ever had treasure like this,” he said. “No man ever had a wife so courageous or true.”
He kissed my lips, and kissed also all the tears from my wet face. “And I know you are beautiful,” he whispered. “I feel it when I touch you.”
“I do not think I am as beautiful as you,” I whispered back. “You are the most beautiful man I ever saw.”
“Even... as I am?”
“Yes. Your lips and mouth, the line of your nose and chin, the smoothness of your brow, your hair, your fingers, so long and slender; your arms and legs...” I trailed off, too shy to say more. “Every part of you. You are so beautiful.”
I laughed a little as I went on. “And we are the right size for each other.”
“Yes,” he agreed, and began to kiss me. “Our bodies fit together well. Very well.”
“We should dress,” said Gyric at last, but he did not take his lips from off my throat. “I do not want some wood-gatherer to come upon us, rutting like two cottars under a haystack.” I had to blush and laugh at the same time; and so we rose and set off.
We took a small trail, in places not much more than a deer track. The growth was thick about us, and we were noisy, for our horses trampled upon small branches that snapped beneath their hooves. We paused for a moment on the trail, and heard the crashing of some other creature coming near. I held my mare’s head, and Gyric, who was mounted, quietly said my name. I put my hand upon his knee so that he knew I was alert, and tried to keep both our horses from moving.
It was too late. The noise came closer, and a moment later a gruff voice rang out.
“Stay!”
I saw the swaying of branches before us, and a glimpse of brown, and then a burly yellow-haired man carrying a hide pack upon his back stepped into the path before us. “Stay,” he bellowed again, but in truth there was no place for us to go, as he blocked the way ahead. He was armed with a short sword at his side, but made no move to draw it. “Who tempts trespass on my Lord Godwulf’s lands?”
“Godwulf’s son, Gyric,” answered he in a calm voice.
The man’s amaze could have been no greater. His jaw dropped open, and he took a step back to get a better vantage point at which to stare at Gyric as he sat upon his horse.
His eyes fastened u
pon Gyric’s face, but he said no more. Gyric slipped off his horse and came and stood in front of me.
“Is it you, my Lord? You are returned?”
“I am Gyric.”
The man fell upon one knee in the trail before us, and sputtered, “Forgive me, my Lord. The hall is lamenting your death.”
“I am not dead.”
The man was studying Gyric’s person, and convinced himself that no ghost stood before him. “No, my Lord.” The man looked about the walls of green that surrounded us. “But how come you here, my Lord? We are only an hour from the road. Let me take you to it. We will be at my Lord’s hall before dark.”
“No. Who are you? What is your name?”
“I am Cort, your Lord, one of the gamesmen. I am setting snares for your Lord’s table.”
“I recall you. I want no one to know that I am arrived. Do not return to the burh tonight, and tell no one you meet that you have seen me.”
The gamesman nodded his head, his mouth still open. Gyric pulled out a silver piece and held it in front of him, but it was nowhere near the man. The gamesman took a few steps and touched Gyric’s hand, and the coin dropped from one to the other.
“Thank you, my Lord. All will be as you command.”
“Go on your way now,” answered Gyric.
The gamesman began backing away, and then Gyric called to him. “Stay, fellow. You are about the burh. Is all well there?”
The man blinked at Gyric. “I think all is well, my Lord, save that all be grieving you. My Lord Godwin was gone for weeks, trying to bargain for your return. All he heard was that you were dead. It was said amongst us gamesmen that he took a whole casket of gold with him, to buy back your life with.”
“My Lord Godwulf is well? And my mother?”
“They be well, my Lord, but - but pardon me, my Lord, your father’s hair is grown more white than ever.”
The Circle of Ceridwen: Book One of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga Page 50
