I thought Gyric trembled. I shook so that I feared that I might fall. Godwin embraced his brother, and I heard Gyric rasp, “I will come at dawn before you ride.”
Gyric turned, and walked a little away, and I looked at Godwin and yearned to say: You must come back, you must come back for Gyric’s sake, for the sake of all at Kilton.
But no words fell from my lips, tho’ tears formed in my eyes. Godwin turned his golden-green eyes on me, and all the light and movement and keenness that had been burnt out of Gyric’s countenance was before me, and my heart moved within my breast as it had the first moment I had seen Godwin.
And with his eyes he read my thought, for he answered me, “I do not wish to die.” His words were quiet and low. “There is too much I have not yet lived to do. I have seen twenty-six Summers, and want many more. I have still no son, or any child behind me. Godwulf is old, and if I die Gyric cannot now rule Kilton. I want to live, but more than life I want revenge for Gyric, and I will die winning it, if I must.”
Then he stepped forward and kissed me on my forehead, just where the golden circlet lay upon my brow. I put my arms about him, and he held me fast in his embrace. “I will finish what you began,” he whispered.
The strangeness of his words did not keep me from speaking this time. “You will come back,” I said, and commanded that this might be so with every particle of strength in me.
But for answer he gently pushed me away from him, and I went to Gyric and clutched his arm. Blind with my own tears, I led him from the hall.
We scarcely slept that night, nor do I think did anyone within the palisade wall. The garden was still in shadow as we dressed, only far to the East could be seen the first grey streaks of morning. All the doors to the hall were opened, all the torches ablaze, and from out in the yard through the great main door could be heard the stamping of horses and jingling of bridles as the packs were tied on to the saddles. Now I saw the chosen thegns of Godwulf attired in all their war-gear. Godwin I saw first, for he stood in the centre of the hall, speaking to his father, his light copper-gold hair looking near as bright as his father’s swan-white head. Godwin listened to the old man, and then quietly spoke; his face was resolute but not grave. He wore a dark leathern tunic, and over it one of iron rings, blackened so that no light shone off the fire from it; and under his arm he held an iron helmet, also coloured black. He wore dark leggings and leg wrappings over them of black leather, and from his black leathern baldric hung his silver-hilted sword, and beneath this across his belly, his seax. Nothing glinted from him; whatever gold or silver he wore was hidden, save for the hilts of his weapons; there was no showiness about him, only the sober gear of a trained warrior who fights to kill: and the sight of him was more awe-ful for it. The ten who went with him looked much the same, dark and grim, with no glitter about them, and all of them bore also a black shield of alder wood, studded with iron bosses. The priest Dunnere was there, and he went amongst each of the men, speaking in the Holy Tongue; and he blest each of them in turn.
Modwynn came to her eldest son, bearing in her hands a large silver tray crowded with cups, and Godwin took one, and each of the thegns took one as well. Then the eleven of them stood together in their battle gear, and Godwin raised his cup, and the ten pledged thegns raised theirs, and so they saluted each other, and drank.
Godwin came to us, and again embraced Gyric, and said, “I will not die before I have killed Hingvar.”
That is all he said. He turned and called out to the men, and they swept through the door. Modwynn had her arms about Gyric and I, and the three of us walked with all the others into the yard. I saw Godwin and his men swing up upon their horses, and lash their spears across their saddles.
And in front of all of us stood Godwulf, quiet in his lordly power, his white hair falling to his shoulders. Godwin turned in his saddle and raised his arm and saluted him, and Godwulf lifted his arm to his son. Then Godwin and his men were gone, and the still-rising Sun shed no warmth upon us left in the echoing yard.
The days that followed went by so slowly that it seemed mid-Summer instead of May. The light and warmth of the lengthening days, the comforts and safety of being at Kilton, the great kindness Modwynn showed me, the deepening joys of my love for Gyric; as precious and valued as this was to me, nothing could dispel the shadow across my happiness. For Gyric and Godwulf and Modwynn it was even worse, and I thought real gloom settled into their hearts.
The movement of the hall went on endlessly about us, but it was quieter, I knew, without Godwin, and each night all looked at his empty place. The scop took up his harp and sang songs of war and love and honour; but he did not sing again the song he had made of Gyric, nor would he, I thought, until some end came of it.
Gyric did all I asked, listened, walked with me, would do everything I wished except ride out; but all that he did he did with little relish. Only in the dragon bed did he seem fully alive to me, and only there could I find real happiness, for there his passion was undimmed, and I could taste again the bliss that I had known with him from our first day of love. But those hours were too few, and even they often ended with his sigh, as he closed his hand about the gold cross on his bare chest.
A week passed, and then two, and it was June, and every fullness and beauty of Summer was about us. And since seven Sundays had passed since Easter, it was now Whitsuntide, the greatest festival of the Church next to Easter itself, and so it must be celebrated, sorrow or no. There was a procession through the village, and a feast given for all the folk as a gift of the hand of Godwulf. On Whitsunday all Kilton crowded behind us into the little chapel and saw the wooden statues wearing real mantles of bright wool for the day; and I tried not to look too long at St Ninnoc.
Soon after this Modwynn and I and some of the younger women in the hall went riding together. We spent the morning riding the hard clay roads of Kilton, viewing the fields in their first harvest, and flock after flock of fat sheep. All of this put me in mind of Ælfwyn, and of a sudden my heart cried out for her.
As we rode into the yard Modwynn and I were alone, and I said to her, “I want so much to honour my pledge to the Lady Ælfwyn at Four Stones. I promised her that when Gyric and I reached safety I would send some word to her, that she might not worry. But I can think of no way to send word to Lindisse, not even a token.”
Modwynn listened to this plea, and thought aloud. “Lindisse is very far, but messengers travel even the greatest distances. But what messenger would be safe going there? It is wholly of the Danes.”
I had no answer; it was the same stopping point I had always reached. Then she answered herself. “A churchman will go,” she said.
“A churchman? Go to Lindisse?”
“Yes. They have need of them enough. A bishop should be asked to send churchmen, since it is the first task of the Church to convert the heathen, and no one is more heathen than the Danes.” She smiled at me. “I know what we will do. Ælfred will come soon. Write out your message, and have it ready for his coming, and I will ask him to have it given to the Lady. Surely some priest or monk will be bold enough to try to take God’s word to Lindisse.”
The thought of what I might say in this letter gave me a sudden unwelcome chill. But I shook it out of myself, and with many thanks left Modwynn at the hall door.
I found Gyric in the garden where I had left him. I went to him and he raised his face to me, and I kissed his lips. I thought of the nights and mornings spent in his arms, and of the touch and taste of him; and wondered what Ælfwyn might think when she learnt that I lived with and loved Gyric, and was the wife to him that she had once longed to be. I did not think I could write any letter which could explain this aright; and the thought of a strange monk reading my words to her made my throat dry. No letter would give me all the space I needed and wanted to tell the story as I wished to.
I said to Gyric, “This afternoon I will write my letter to Ælfwyn, since your mother feels sure that the King will send
a churchman to deliver it.”
This is what I told him. What was left unasked was what he might desire me to say to her for his sake.
He did not answer me. I touched his hand and asked, “Is there... any one thing I should tell her?”
He shook his head, and only said, “Tell her the truth.”
This was my truth, and how I wrote it to her:
TO the noble Lady Ælfwyn, mistress of Four Stones in Lindisse, and begging the good and prudent judgement of the Holy Servant of God who reads these words to her; that she may hear them in private. Lady, know that she who you took in and treated as your own sister is well, and sends you by the work of her hands this greeting. Gyric of Kilton lives, and has grown strong amongst his people here at Kilton, for we journeyed here together, arriving the 18th day of May. Tho’ his hurt be grievous, his folk rejoice in his life, and have received me with great kindness. And now I reach out and embrace you as my true sister, and hold you to my breast as I tell you that Gyric is my husband, and I his wife, and that we know true joy together. And this happened upon our journeying here. I send my kiss to you, with every thought for your safe and happy life. I will send again to you as I can, and beg you to send to me if you might be able. Until then I am your loving Ceridwen.
It did not say enough; it did not say half of what I wished it to say; but it was the truth, and I read it to Gyric and he solemnly nodded his head. When I was done, and all the ink had dried, I lay it away in the wood chest that held my leathern satchel.
Chapter the Seventy-second: The Fulfiller of Oaths
NONE of us were too busy to count each day that Godwin had been gone, and now these days numbered twenty-four. Each of us greeted every new day with some hope, and each day that passed without his return hope fled empty from our grasp.
One mid-day Gyric and I sat alone in the pavilion. It was misty and cool, and the Sun passed slowly from cloud to cloud, hiding her face and making silver the sky. As we sat together, listening to the roar of sea against rock, the brass horn of the palisade sentry rang out. Gyric lifted his hand, as if to keep me from speaking. We heard first a short note, then a long, and then a short; and this was followed by a long blast.
“Godwin,” said Gyric, and stood up at once. “Godwin is back.”
Before I had a chance to take his arm the side door of the hall opened, and Godwulf strode across the path to his son.
“He is come,” he told us, and these short words were all he uttered.
He took Gyric’s arm and I followed them as they hurriedly crossed to the open door. The hall was being emptied of serving folk and weaving women, and the thick oak table was being set up on the stone platform. In a dark corner I saw the wizened scop standing silently, his ear cocked, waiting.
Godwulf guided Gyric to the table, and stood next to him. Modwynn was nowhere in sight; perhaps she was in the furthest part of the burh, or even in the village.
We stood there, the three of us, on the stone platform, unmoving as we faced the great open door. Now we heard some noise from the hall yard; now the thegns at the door moved onto the broad step to look; now we heard the trampling of hard-ridden horses and the jingling of metal against metal.
The waiting thegns parted, vanished. We heard the wail of a woman, then two; then a lone dark figure stepped through the door.
It was Godwin. He came first and alone, and as he approached the table a line of other men followed him in. But I saw no man but Godwin; it was he whom my eyes caught and held. He walked slowly, but seemed unhurt. He wore the same blackened ring shirt and dark clothing as when he had left, but now they and he were begrimed and streaked with dirt. His black baldric still held his sword, and his seax lay still in its sheath, but he did not rest his hand upon its hilt as he approached us, for he grasped in his right hand a small leathern hide pack. Now I saw that his right arm had been hurt, for the tunic sleeve had been cut open, and his forearm bandaged, and he bore too a wrap across the back of his right hand as it gripped the leathern pack.
I saw all this as he walked to the table, but more than these things I saw his face: for no one, I thought, could look upon it and then look away. He seemed to have aged ten years in the days he had been gone. There was a look about him, in his eyes, in the set of his mouth, that struck real fear into me, and quelled within me the joy I felt at seeing him alive and whole. The face was filthy, and tired, and worn, but the eyes and mouth spoke the tongue of sheer torment.
He stopped before us, and looked behind him at the men as they followed after. They were the pledged thegns, and I counted them as they lined up behind him. The first were two together, for one was held up by another, and bore around his thigh a blood-stained wrap that showed he had suffered great hurt. Then came another, and another; two, three, four, five. Eleven men had ridden to avenge Gyric. Six now stood before him.
All the waiting thegns who had stayed behind came into the hall, and the great door was swung shut, closing out the wailing of the women in the yard. Godwin stepped onto the stone platform before Godwulf and Gyric.
“I have fulfilled my pledge,” he told them. “Hingvar is dead.”
Godwin raised the leathern pack he carried in his hand and dropped it upon the table in front of his brother. It fell with a dull and clanging thud, and the thought of what might be inside made me feel of a sudden sick.
Gyric put out his hand and touched the pack, but he did not open it. He pulled back his hand, and I thought I felt him tremble at my side.
Godwin’s eyes had been fixed upon his brother, but now he raised them and looked quickly all about the hall. “Dunnere!” he cried. “Where is Dunnere! Get him.”
A thegn at the back pulled open one of the doors and ran out to fetch the priest.
Godwin’s eyes fell upon me, and I think he saw me for the first time. “Sister, leave us,” he told me. His words were low, but each was a command. “You will not want to hear what I am about to tell.”
I clutched at Gyric’s hand. The place was filled with horror, but I did not want to leave Gyric. But Gyric himself bid me go, for he made the slightest movement with the hand that held mine, and so I let slip my fingers from his, and backed away from the table to the door.
A thegn pushed it open for me, and I looked back to see Godwulf and Gyric unmoving before the table, and Godwin looking with burning eyes at them both.
I stumbled out into the garden, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I walked back and forth along the paths, and the hem of my gown grew wet from brushing against the sodden grasses. At last I forced myself to sit at the table, and tried to still myself by listening to the sea beneath me.
I rose and walked to the edge of the stone walk to look down upon the rocks. As I stood there I heard a noise, and turned to see Modwynn, her skirts in her hands, come rushing in a gate of the garden on her way to the hall. I raised my hand and ran to her, and we clasped each other.
“Godwin is well, he is whole,” I told her, and we were both breathless. “He has suffered some small hurt to his sword arm; I do not think it is bad.”
“God bless him,” she murmured, and crossed herself.
“He said he had fulfilled his vow.”
She put her hand to her lips, and then drew breath and nodded. “Is Dunnere with him?”
“Yes, he called for Dunnere right away.”
Now the beautiful white hands rose again, and she crossed herself once more. “May God forgive him,” she whispered.
She turned as if she would go into the hall, but I caught up her sleeve and stopped her. “Godwin ordered me out of the hall. He would not let me hear what he did to Hingvar.”
Modwynn swallowed hard, and murmured a near-silent prayer. Pity was in her face, pity for her son, and what vengeance had driven him to wreak. “God forgive him,” she said again, and this time tears welled in her eyes.
She brushed them away, and composed herself with a breath. She looked at the hall door, closed against us. “We are
going in,” she told me, and took up my hand in her own.
We went to the door and she took the bronze handle of it in both her hands, and pulled it open. A thegn stood just inside, but when he saw who it was he did not stay us.
The hall was quiet. A bench had been brought for the returned thegns, and the one with the wound to his thigh was now sitting upon it, his leg rigid and straight before him. His eyes were closed and I thought he gritted his teeth against the pain.
Godwin still stood before Godwulf and Gyric, but the old man now sat, his brow creased in thought. Godwin, tho’ he stood, looked slack, as if he barely kept his feet. Off to one side, a few feet away from him, knelt Dunnere, his hands clasped together, his eyes closed, rocking slightly to and fro as he prayed. Gyric stood motionless at the table, his cheek pale and his head lowered. I saw that the pack had been opened before him.
I came up to Gyric, and could not keep my eyes from flitting to the opened pack. There was something like a horse’s tail in it, or a hank of bright-dyed fleece; I could not make it out. When I was closer I saw the red mass for what it was, and the sight of it made me shudder, for it was the braided beard of a red-headed man. It was coarse and wavy and bright red in colour, and I tore my eyes from it as I saw that the tips of it were fused and singed from burning.
The pack held also several arm rings and bracelets of silver, and something like a buckle or shoulder pin of gold. It was hard to make out what each thing was, for they were all jumbled together, and some of them were broken or bent.
The Circle of Ceridwen: Book One of The Circle of Ceridwen Saga Page 55
