Gyric rose and stood as he heard them come in, and I stood too, but Modwynn sat, her hands folded tightly before her, and her eyes upon her husband.
The thegns came before the table, and took two benches, and set them in a single line before us. Each of them drew his sword and sat down. And each man of them lay the naked blade upon their lap, and by doing this signified that they would pledge to everything that their Lords might say, and would without stint accept any charge their Lord might lay upon them. As long as they kept their swords upon their laps this would be so, but if any man there heard some charge which he was not willing to take up, he might without dishonour rise and sheath his sword, and so be dismissed; and no blame would come to him.
Godwulf sat down in his chair, and lay his sword upon the table before him. Godwin drew his sword out of his sheath, and lay the naked blade on the table before his brother, and stood before Gyric and looked long at his brother’s face before he spoke.
“My sword is before you, brother.”
Gyric reached out and touched the glinting metal, and answered in a low voice, “I accept the works of your sword.”
Godwulf spoke, in his slow gruff voice. “The Dane Hingvar has treacherously maimed my son Gyric, and I proclaim that Hingvar’s life is forfeit. His blood shall be on my hands. I do not ride myself to wreak vengeance, but charge my son Godwin to carry the warrant of death with him. And I pledge also my five best thegns, who will ride with Godwin, and seek the blood of Hingvar as Godwin himself will.”
Now Godwin spoke, his words thrilled with anger. “I ride to wreak vengeance for my brother Gyric, and will not rest until I have plunged my hands in Hingvar’s blood. And I pledge not only my own life, but the lives of my five best thegns, who will follow me and seek revenge as I do.”
Then Godwin put out his hand to his brother, and touched him, and Gyric once again enfolded Godwin’s hand against his own breast. As they stood thus facing each other with locked hands, Godwin turned his head and saw that no man behind him had sheathed his sword; so all pledged to follow in this charge unto death. Godwin nodded at the men, and they all cried out as one, and pounded their feet upon the floor.
Godwin and Gyric released their hands, and Godwin looked again into his brother’s face. “Last night we sent riders to Ælfred, to Sibyrht, to Ceolfrith, and to Ælfsige, telling all of them of your return and asking them for news of Hingvar. As soon as we learn where Hingvar is I will be off.”
Gyric nodded, and Godwin lowered his voice and said, “I have never seen Hingvar. Tell me how I will know him.”
“Once seen, you cannot mistake him. He has a long red beard which he wears in a braid. In battle he wears an iron helmet painted red.”
“And his companions? How will I know them?’
“If he has made peace with his brother Svein, then they may be together. Svein has red hair too, but not so bright as Hingvar, and he wears no beard.”
Godwin was listening to each word with great intent, and never moved his eyes from Gyric’s face. “And the other Dane - the one that would let you die beneath his hall - tell me again of him.”
Gyric raised his hand and shrugged slightly. “His name is Yrling.”
“Yrling,” Godwin repeated. “He is a dead man. But Hingvar first; first Hingvar. And when I find him, I will not be quick about it, brother. I will make him suffer worse than you did. He will beg me for death before I am through with him!”
These words were so terrible, and Godwin’s voice so full of wrath, and his hatred of Hingvar so just, that I covered my face with my hands. As I did I knew that Modwynn wept silent tears where she sat with her head in her hands. I looked up to see Godwin’s bright eyes upon me.
“Sister, you sat at Yrling’s table. Tell me of him.”
It took me a moment to find my voice; my throat was so clenched it ached. At last I was able to breath out, “He is... perhaps as tall as you... he has light brown hair, worn long...”
“What of his companions?”
Gyric spoke for me. “He has two nephews with him. They must always fight at his side.”
I could not keep my voice from shaking. “Yes... one is easy to mark; he has bright yellow hair...”
“What is his name?” Godwin demanded.
“Toki.”
“And the second?”
“He is tall, and dark. He...has a scar that runs from under his left eye to his chin.”
“What is his name?”
“Sidroc.”
As I spoke this name, I sat down upon the bench, and hid my face in my hands. I felt to my core the wretchedness of betraying one who I knew loved me, and who, tho’ a Dane, was innocent of any part of Gyric’s wound.
Somehow I found strength to rise again, and to open my mouth. “Godwin, Yrling’s nephews had no part of this. And Yrling himself did not want to accept Gyric at Four Stones, and was very angry with the Danes who had wounded him; and angry with those who had brought him to Four Stones...”
“I do not care about his anger. He is a Dane, and part of this, for he thrust my brother into a cellar to die. I tell you, his life is forfeit. I only pray I live long enough to kill him too. But my desire for his blood does not compare to my lust to catch Hingvar. Hingvar is far more important.”
I slumped down again on the bench. Gyric still stood, and one hand still rested on the naked blade of Godwin’s sword.
Godwin put his hand over Gyric’s, and swore, “I will not die before I have killed Hingvar.”
Then Godwin took his brother’s hand away from the blade, and Godwin picked up the sword and slid it back into his sheath.
Godwulf stood and bellowed, “The pledging is done. Vengeance will be had.”
And Godwin turned and walked from the hall, and the thegns all rose and followed him.
Godwulf touched Modwynn on her shoulder, and she rose, her face white and her lips thin. One son who she thought dead was returned to her, tho’ maimed. Now her other son pledged his life to avenge the act. Her face was not wet with tears, as I knew mine was, and she walked away with Godwulf with a steady step; but I knew her heart must be near to breaking within her. I touched Gyric on the hand, and he took mine and held it hard, and I led him out into the morning Sun.
Chapter the Seventieth: More Like a Woman
TWO days passed, days spent in welcome rest and comfort. Gyric took me about the great expanse of the burh, like onto a whole village within the palisade walls. My awe was great, not only for the richness that was Kilton, but for the justness of his people, for all, even the many slaves, were decently fed and clothed.
Modwynn came to me one afternoon as Gyric and I sat in the pleasure garden. She had a ring of keys in her hand, such as she always wore at her waist, only those she held were not so many. She took my hand and pressed the ring of keys she carried into it, and spoke to me. “These are yours, Ceridwen, as you are Lady after me now. Will you come and I will show you what they open?”
I kissed her for this great honour which she now gave me, and Gyric urged me to go with her, and so I left with Modwynn. First we went into the kitchen yard, and we opened together, she and I, all the store houses, filled with fresh-made cheeses and smoked meats and roasted eggs and sack upon sack of barley and wheat and oats and peas. And we looked at houses which held naught but cask after cask of mead, or of ale, ready standing and waiting to be tapped.
She took me into the pantry and opened the chests which held the gold and silver that graced the table; and the chests which held the bronze and copper; and lastly she took me into the chamber which was her own, and in which she had slept with Godwulf for so many years. It was the treasure room of Kilton, filled with rich stuffs. But what most caught my eye was an upright loom which held a piece of fine linen, upon half of which was worked in coloured threads many beautiful designs of linked spirals and twisting lines, and the skilfully worked forms of running stags and flying birds.
I stood before it, almos
t unable to praise it, and she came up beside me and touched a needle stuck in it, ready charged with coloured linen thread.
“This is Godwulf’s winding sheet,” she told me, simply and quietly, and with love in her voice. “He asked me to begin it when he reached his sixtieth year, and I am still at work upon it.”
And she touched with her white hand the shroud that she had woven for her husband, and which with its gorgeous thread work would wrap his body as it was lowered into the grave.
I did not presume to try to answer her, or to praise a work of such love and art; and I felt awe at this woman, and awe, too for the many years she had spent at Godwulf’s side.
At last I said, “Gyric told me when we were upon our travels that all that you did, you did well, and that all men respected you. I never forgot those words, and now that I am here with you I see how just they are.”
She laughed to hear this praise from her son, but her eyes shone with pride. She turned away from the loom to a large plain chest on the floor. She lifted the lid and began taking up what lay within. “I have many more linens for your bed, and also new towels woven last Winter. We will take them to the bower-house so you will have a good store.”
We each took up armfuls of the snowy linens, and made our way through the empty hall and into the pleasure garden. As we walked along the path, we saw Godwin and Gyric standing together in the pavilion, talking and laughing.
Modwynn and I did not disturb them, but went on our way to the bower-house. Once inside we put down the linens, and then stopped a moment in the door to look back at the two men. We could still see them, partially screened by the vines that grew up the sheltering walls of the pavilion.
“How alike they are,” I said, almost to myself, as I looked at Godwin standing near Gyric.
Modwynn nodded, and then smiled slowly. “Yes, in the face they are alike; tho’ now Godwin begins to show his age. A few years ago they were truly as twins. But Godwin has always been serious. He knew from a little boy that one day he would be ealdorman of Kilton, and it made him Fateful. Gyric was the light-hearted one, always laughing and jesting.”
This mention of Gyric brought sudden tears into my eyes. He was so often silent, and wrapped in his own pain and thoughts; to think of him as light-hearted and jesting was hard indeed, tho’ I longed to see him so.
For reply Modwynn simply put her arm about my shoulders. “You go now and join them,” she told me. “I will see you tonight in the hall.” She walked along the line of trees back through the garden.
I began to walk to the pavilion. I could hear Godwin speak, but could not make out his words. As I went down the path the hem of my sleeve was snagged by the thorns of a rose-bush. As I worked to free myself, the breeze shifted slightly, and Godwin’s voice came clearly to my ears.
“No; she is not like that, either. She is more beautiful. She is - she is like the statue of St Ninnoc, the one on the North wall of the chapel. She is just like that, only - Ceridwen looks more like a woman than a saint. She is more pleasing, if you know what I mean. And her eyes...she has the greenest eyes I have ever seen; like a cat’s. But they are not yellow-green, they are like...a new leaf of mint.”
“She told me once they were the colour of moss.”
“Yes. Moss; they are just like moss.”
Gyric’s words were slow. “I recall that statue well. She truly is like it?”
“Yes; very much like it. Only more like a woman. And the eyes of the statue are painted blue.”
The wind shifted again, and their words faded. With a tug I pulled my sleeve from the rose thorns, and I snapped off a white blossom and cradled it to my breast. I turned and hurried past the bower-house and out of the garden. I was almost running, but trying not to; and my cheeks burned from what I had heard Godwin say; and I felt some tiny seed of shame to have stood so long overhearing him.
I reached the stone chapel, and pushed open the heavy oak door, and stood blinking in the dimness looking for the North wall, and the statue. There was only one it could be, and I walked to it and fastened my gaze upon it, my heart beating so that it near filled the space. The statue was large, almost half life-size, and it showed the young St Ninnoc. It was brightly painted; the saint wore a gown of brilliant red; but it was her face I studied. She had a smooth broad brow, arched eyebrows over large, wide-set eyes, and deeply curving lips set in a smile. There was a sameness there, I saw, and if the bright blue-painted eyes had been turned deep green, it could have almost been my likeness.
I again heard Gyric telling Godwin, “I recall that statue well,” and felt a thrill of joy that this gift had been made to both of us. I stepped to the base of the statue, and kissing the rose I still clutched, lay it at the feet of the saint.
That night in the hall we ate and drank and the scop struck his harp and sang out tales of loyalty and love. I sat at Gyric’s side, wearing as he did a narrow circlet of gold upon my brow, listening to those who thought of me as part of their family speak a tongue which I knew fully. I felt a part of all of them, and a deep and quiet joy filled me.
Later in bed Gyric stroked my face with his finger tips. He always touched me so, touched every part of me; but this night he stroked my face with great tenderness and care.
“Wife,” he breathed into my ear. “I know what you look like now; I know. Godwin told me. I can...I can see you, in my mind.”
And as he touched me, he felt a tear running from the tail of my eye, a tear of joy; and he kissed it.
Two days later, at mid-day, a messenger came, riding hard into the keep yard. We answered the summoning horn by gathering in the hall. A serving man came forward with a cup for the rider, and he drank from it and wiped his dusty face. Gyric and I stood together, and several of the chief thegns who had followed us in stood behind us. The messenger knelt briefly before Godwulf, and rose and began his message.
“I have been to Witanceaster, and have there seen Ælfred, King; and he spoke to me himself. He has heard nothing of Hingvar or of Hingvar’s brother Svein, but sent from that hour riders of his own to seek word. He swears he will send to us if he or anyone in Wessex learns where Hingvar is.”
The faces of both Godwulf and Godwin showed their thwarting at this news, tho’ neither man spoke. Godwulf moved his hand to dismiss the man, and the messenger spoke again.
“My Lord, I have a message from Ælfred, King, to my Lord Gyric.”
“Deliver,” said Godwulf in his gruff way.
The rider turned to Gyric, touched one knee to the floor, stepped nearer him. Gyric moved forward, and waited.
“My Lord, the King rejoices to hear that you live. He will come to Kilton as he may to see you, and until then sends you this token as the gift of his heart.”
Here the messenger reached into the breast of his tunic, and took out a pouch of leather and drew from it a piece of glinting metal. He reached forward with it, and gently touched Gyric’s hand, and Gyric found the gift, and his fingers closed around it. The messenger bowed, and stepped back, and left us.
I put my hand on Gyric’s shoulder, and Godwulf and Godwin crossed over to him; and Gyric opened his hand and we looked down on what lay in his palm.
No one spoke but Gyric; it was he who told us of the preciousness of what Ælfred had sent. “It is the gold cross he wears ever, the one his father King Æthelwulf and he brought back from Rome when Ælfred was a boy.”
He took the cross by its gold chain and lifted it over his head, and put it around his neck. As he did so his lips moved slightly, as if in some silent prayer, or vow; or thanks perhaps, for Ælfred’s love. And never did Gyric take the gold cross off, but wore it thenceforth.
Chapter the Seventy-first: What I Began
THE hall did not have long to wait to hear where Hingvar might be found, for the next night as we all sat at table the horn was sounded again, and another road-weary rider was brought in. It was one who had been sent to an ealdorman named Sibyrht, who ruled a shire in
the East of Wessex; and the word he sent was this: That Hingvar and his men were moving East and North, perhaps back to Anglia, and that Sibyrht himself would engage Hingvar if he came too close to his own shire.
For eleven men in the hall the meal came to an end right then; for Godwin called the chosen thegns about him, and they began to pack at once, so that they might be ready to ride at first light. We all looked upon Godwin and his thegns as they moved about us, going from alcove to alcove, spreading out their hide packs upon a table made ready. We watched them with perhaps different thoughts, but the same hopes. The thegns who would not ride looked on, and in some of their faces I saw awe, and the restlessness of envy. Three of the thegns who would ride were married, and I saw the faces of their wives, proud, fearful, and hopeful, as they watched their men prepare; and watched the pale eyes of Modwynn, filled with love and sorrow, as they followed Godwin all around the hall. Godwulf too, watched his son, but as often as he looked at Godwin he turned and looked at Gyric. I knew his anger was fresh upon him, for I thought he cursed as he clenched his golden goblet.
At last Godwin and the thegns did as much as they could, and Godwulf signalled that the night should come to a close. Everyone rose, the serving men carried off the last of the cups, the thegns throughout the hall began to knock down the tables from their trestles, and Gyric said to me, “Take me to Godwin.”
I took his arm, and we crossed the hall floor to the firepit, where Godwin and the chosen thegns had laid their packs. The fire had burnt low, but the torches about the walls were still lit. Godwin stopped what he was doing and came to us, and touched Gyric. “I am here,” he told him.
I thought Gyric would speak, but he did not, and only stood before his brother, silent. The linen wrap about his wound gleamed white in the fire light. Godwin raised his hand, and reached to touch Gyric’s face, and for one moment I thought he would lift the wrap from off his brother’s face and look at the terrible maiming that he rode to avenge. I held my breath; but Godwin did not do this. He only touched the wrap with his fingers, and then lowered his hand.
The Circle of Ceridwen: Book One of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga Page 54
