Avalon

by Anya Seton

  "Very possibly," said the Abbess in her composed way. "Breaca came from the wild southern parts of Cornwall, and I knew little about her family. My dear —" she turned to Merewyn, reverting to Cornish, "you may be sure, that with God's grace, I'll look after you for the sake of my poor brother, Uther — God rest his soul." She crossed herself slowly, while the other two followed suit. "You will stay here at the guesthouse with me, and when the Coronation is over, return to my convent at Romsey."

  But then I'll never see Rumon, thought Merewyn overwhelmed — nor the Queen. She dared not speak, but the Abbess, who had much experience with girls, looked at her shrewdly.

  "It was to be under my care that you have made this long journey," she stated. "And I believe it is high time, considering your youth, that you be removed from the perils and temptations of the world."

  Nobody ever gainsaid A4erwinna when she spoke in this tone, and Merewyn w^as aware that she should be grateful, that this

  result was precisely what her mother and Rumon had intended.

  Still her mouth grew dr)% and into her chest there came a lump. The lump grew heavier as Rumon took his leave, smiling at her, patting her on the shoulder like a child. And in the refectory later sitting next to her aunt amongst the other silent abbesses, Merewym could eat nothing. After the bustle, chatter, music — yes and even the strife of the Queen's Bower — this hush was formidable. The black-robed abbesses of Shaftesbury, of Wilton, of Barking, of Winchester — and Merwinna of Rom-sey all sat with downcast eyes, their lips moving only to receive the morsels of food which they plucked delicately off the plates their attendant nuns put before them.

  I can't stand it, Merewyn thought. I can't, and she gave a gulp, at which her aunt shook her head slightly, and put a restraining hand on the girl's arm. Please, Blessed Holy Virgin! Please, dear Lord Jesus! Please, St. Petroc! Merevi^n prayed desperately, clasping her hands tight on her lap.

  Her prayers were answered promptly. Answered through the very earthy medium of Lady Albina, Ordulf's large indolent wife, who was waiting in the parlor as the abbesses and nuns filed out of the refectory.

  Lady Albina had been sent by the Queen. "Merewyn is to return with me. Reverend Mother," said Albina, drawling a Httle and yawning, for the journey had wearied her. "The Queen will not retire for the night until she has Merewyn's combings and rubbings."

  The girl's head flew up, her face was transfigured, while a crease appeared between the Abbess's dark brows. "I would prefer to keep the girl with me, as everyone has planned."

  Albina shook her head. "It is a royal command," she said indifferently. "The Queen wishes Merewyn to return and perform her usual duties."

  After a moment the Abbess inclined her head. "I cannot ignore a royal command. Just what are your duties, Merewyn?"

  "Oh —" said the girl eagerly. "Combing her hair, polishing

  it with silk, or washing it in honey oil. Then I rub and stroke perfumed creams all over her body. She loves it."

  The Abbess's nostrils wrinkled with distaste. "Singular duties," she said. "And when the Queen has no need for you, I shall expect you to be here with me."

  "Yes, Reverend Mother," said Merewyn faintly. And so it had been these past days — a shuttle between the scented noisy Bower in the palace and the austere offices and silences of the black-robed women. She admired her aunt and tried to please her — she did not yet love her. She loved Alfrida who be-glamoured her with compliments, an occasional caress, and the loveliness of the slender white body which stretched in languid pleasure. Alfrida almost purred like her white Persian cat under the touch of Merewyn's hands.

  At last there was a bustle near the Abbey's west door, which swung slowly open and let in a burst of trumpets while the new organ swelled in triumph throughout the taper-lit Abbey. The choir struck up the antiphon, as the two Archbishops entered first, walking down the nave with stately steps. They were followed by the premier earls of England — Alfhere, Britnoth, Athelwine, Oslac. These bore the King's regalia — the sword, the ring, the sceptre and the rod. The earls were dressed in purple mantles lavishly furred with ermine, yet Merewyn scarcely glanced at them, because Rumon followed alone behind, his hands clasped in prayer, a strange dreamy fight on his face as he gazed up towards the altar.

  Next came the athelings — Edward and Ethelred, both boys dressed in green gold-embroidered satin, both looking frightened.

  There was a pause, and then appeared the King escorted by the Bishops of Winchester and London. Edgar wore nothing but a white lawn baptismal shift, the thin gold circlet on his crisp straw-colored hair. At Dunstan's request he had shaved

  off his beard, since in all details this was to parallel a priest's ordination. He looked very young.

  The Queen came last, followed by her two ladies — Hilde and Britta. Alfrida too was in white; but no simple shift like the King's. She wore a gown and mantle of silver-threaded tissue embroidered with tiny freshwater pearls. The serving women had been sewing them on for days. Her chaplet was made of lilies. Her tremendous plaits of shining hair were intertwined with threaded pearls. She was breathtaking as she undulated down the Abbey, a faint smile on her full reddened Hps when she heard the murmurs around her. For some moments nobody looked at the King, who had prostrated himself on the altar steps while Dunstan led the choir in chanting a Te Deum.

  The bishops raised the King, while Dunstan put a gold crucifix in his hand. Edgar stood silent for a second on the altar steps, his eyes were shut; he began to take the Coronation oath in a shaking voice which quickly gathered strength.

  "These three things to the Christian peoples subject unto me I do promise in the Name of Christ:

  "First, that the Church of God and all Christians under my dominion in all time shall keep true peace;

  "Second, that acts of greed, violence and all iniquities in all ranks and classes I will forbid;

  "Third, that in all my judgments I will declare justice and mercy; so to me and to you, may God, gracious and merciful, yield His mercy — Who liveth and reigneth forever and ever."

  "Amen!" Dunstan cried, and all the congregation kneeling, whispered back, "Amen."

  That was beautiful, Merewyn thought. Justice, Mercy, Peace were English words she by now understood. Comfortable words. Only one other could be more consoling — Love. And that word she caught in the prayers for Edgar which followed. It came in Dustan's prayer or Oswald's for the two archbishops alternated. "Govern them with Thy love — give to this Thy serv^ant Edgar the spirit of wisdom . . ."

  Shall I ever have a spirit of wisdom? thought Merewyn. All her sorrows, passions and rebellions dropped away, she felt herself as pure and dedicated as the King they were now consecrating up there. Half dreaming, lulled by the chanting and the organ, she watched the distant figures. This was the feast of Pentecost, and perhaps the great white dove had already descended. Perhaps it was hovering over the Abbey, enfolding them all in its wings, sending peace into their hearts.

  Up in the choir, Rumon, who had erstwhile been the one for such visions, now had none, because he had been placed near Alfrida and the athelings. She was seated on a small chair near the choir entrance, waiting for her part in the ceremony. Rumon tried not to look at her. He knew it to be blasphemous that not the solemn ritual, nor the King, not even the altar and its crucifix, afi^ected him like the sight of Alfrida in her shimmering white robes, her unfathomable violet eyes resting on the scene, her red lips parted slightly.

  He was, however, forced to look at her, because when the choir commenced the antiphon of the Anointing "Zadok the Priest . . ." and Dunstan led the King behind a screen held up by four bishops, Ethelred suddenly began to whimper and clutch at his middle. Young Edward had never moved since the ceremony began except to kneel. He stood sturdily, his feet far apart, gazing rapt at his father. He did not move now, while Ethelred's whimpers grew louder.

  "Be quiet!" hissed Alfrida, shaking her son's shoulder.

  "I can't!" he cried, thrashing his arms to es
cape from her. "It's hot in here. Besides I've a bellyache!''

  His voice shrilled through the reverent silence.

  Ethelwold, Bishop of Winchester, frowned over the corner of the anointing screen. Rumon had turned at the commotion and met Alfrida's imploring eyes, while Ethelred began to wail and thrash more violently.

  There were of course no housecarls or even thanes near them in the sanctuary, nobody to deal with this disruption.

  Rumon did not hesitate. He scooped up the struggling, malodorous child and ran out with him through the choir entrance into the cloisters.

  A lay brother was spading the cloister garth. Rumon went towards the man and dumped Ethelred on the ground. "Here, take charge of this little wretch. Beat him if you like. And cleanse him, for he has obviously soiled himself!"

  The monk looked puzzled, then his face cleared. He seized Ethelred by the arm,

  "You daren't touch me!" the boy quavered, twisting in the monk's stolid grasp, and staring at Rumon with fearing disbelief. 'TmtheAtheling!"

  "You're not the Atheling," said Rumon. "And you act like the most ailgar of serfs. I cannot conceive how you sprang from such a mother — or father either," he added after a second.

  "The lad is still very young, sir," said the lay monk, unexpectedly. "I've a brother like him at home. Soils himself when he's nervous. I'll tend to him."

  Into Ethelred's round blue eyes came confusion. He was used to inspiring fear, anger, annoyance, indulgence, occasionally praise. He had never encountered the voice of simple kindness before. "I want to be in the Coronation — I'm supposed to be," he said tentatively, looking from Rumon to the monk.

  "And so you may," said Rumon, who had also noticed the gardener's kind tone. "After you're cleaned, and if you can behave yourself." He turned to the lay brother. "Bring him to the Abbey, later."

  Rumon hurried back into the sanctuary, and took up his stand near Alfrida, who gave him a long look of gratitude — gratitude, and something else which sent a shiver down Rumon's spine.

  The King had reappeared from behind the screen, and was now dressed in cloth of gold, accepting from Dunstan the insignia of investiture handed up by the premier earls — the gold ring with Chrisms Rex enameled on it; the jeweled sword which had been his father's, King Edmund's; the scepter topped by a

  »» A V ALO N

  cross; the rod of Equity topped by a dove. Then, at Dunstan's gesture, the King sat down on his throne. Dunstan walked to the altar and fetched the crown which was lying before the tabernacle.

  The Archbishop — an expert goldsmith — had made the crown himself. It was square (for the four-square city of God), each angle was surmounted by an elaborately chased trefoil (for the Trinity), and along the high band of gold were studded all the gems mentioned in Revelations as pertaining to the heavenly Jerusalem. Emerald, chrysolite, sapphire, topaz, amethyst, and the others, blazed in the taper light. It had taken many years to collect these jewels.

  The congregation held its breath as Dunstan lowered the sparkling crown onto Edgar's head; then when Dunstan cried out in a great voice — "Will ye have King Edgar to be your liege lord forever?" the Abbey resounded with shouts of "Aye, we will! Long live the King!" while the monks chanted, "Vivat! Vivat! Rex!"

  The choir burst out in another triumphant Te Deimi, during which Edgar turned and beckoned to Dunstan. "Alfrida?" he whispered. The Archbishop nodded, concealing his reluctance. He walked over to her and led her by the hand to a small throne lower and to the right of the King's.

  Alfrida's ceremony was brief. Dunstan anointed her with the holy oil on forehead, cheeks, and breast. He invested her with the Queen's ring, on which was enameled an image of the Blessed Virgin. And when Lady Hilde had removed the chaplet of lilies, the Archbishop placed on the bowed head a small croA^^n studded with little pearls and crystals, while praying aloud that she would "be a faithful, dihgent consort to her lord, tender mother to his children, and a queenly example of mercy, graciousness, chanty and virtue to all Christian subjects."

  Alfrida kept her head modestly inclined while cheers burst forth again, and cries of "Long live Alfrida." Nor did she raise her lovely head throughout the ensuing ceremony of homage.

  The Archbishop of Canterbury did homage first, kneehng before the King, placing his hands between Edgar's, kissing him on the brow, and intoning, "Your liege man of life and limb, and of earthly worship ..." The Archbishop of York followed him, and all the bishops. Then Kenneth, King of the Scots, seeming dazed by the magnificence around him. After him the athelings, for Ethelred had returned in time to see his mother crowned. He was subdued, and did not even try to elbow Edward out of the way as that prince went first to pay homage to their father. Rumon came next. He had noted the procedure in regard to Alfrida. Dunstan had decreed that it was not homage which should be paid a woman, only a bended knee in token of respect.

  Rumon was glad that he need not touch her; as it was, while he bowed, her nearness and her flowery perfume made his head swim. He retreated quickly, and stood in his former place watching the earls from all over England, and the Danelaw, and Northumbria each pledge to Edgar their allegiance and the allegiance of those who lived in their particular domains.

  The Coronation ended with High Mass in which Edgar himself offered bread and wine, and made his personal oblation — a heavy ingot of gold.

  The procession re-formed, and filed slowly out of the Abbey.

  Dunstan was exultant as he stepped into the sunhght. In the entire history of England there had never been such a Coronation, not one in which heaven had also participated, and endowed the King with the divine right to rule. Edgar was now a Holy Christian Emperor, and great triumphs were still ahead. They would proceed to Chester next week where the seven western kinglets of Cumbria, the Isle of Man, and the various parts of Wales would all be gathered to swear allegiance to Edgar.

  Ah, Dunstan thought, my vision has come true through God's grace. He thought of the angelic voice he had heard on the night of Edgar's birth. It had said, "Peace to England as long as this child shall reign, and our Dunstan survives." He murmured a prayer of thanksgiving.

  Alfrida too was exultant, though the tenor of her thoughts were unlike Dunstan's. At last she had achieved the highest glory open to a woman. At last her power was secure, and she need no longer be quite so careful. A consecrated and anointed queen could not be put away on a pretext as Eneda had been. Not that she feared any loss of her hold on Edgar — it was rather that she need not respond so slavishly to his ardors, and that she might now pursue certain plans of her own. She smiled as she thought of this, and the populace who were kneehng and avidly watching the royal procession to the banquet hall murmured admiration. One ragged old beggar woman broke from the crowd crying, "God Bless our beautiful Queen!" and clutched at the hem of Alfrida's white robe. The housecarls rushed up to beat off the old woman, but Alfrida stopped them.

  "I thank you for your blessing," she said smiling again, and tearing one pearl off her mantle, put it in the woman's withered hand.

  She breathed deep at the cheers which rose on all sides. Though the pearl was not worth a penny, the old beggar slobbered her gratitude.

  All the mob had cause for gratitude today. Twenty oxen were a-roasting at open fires, tuns of ale were being broached. Even the lowliest slave would be fed from the King's bounty.

  Alfrida ghded into the Banquet Hall where her table was set across the Hall from the King's. Dunstan had arranged this too. At a Coronation banquet the King must entertain the lords, both spiritual and temporal. To the Queen fell the lesser folk — the ladies including abbesses, and a stray abbot or two for whom there wasn't room at the High Table.

  Alfrida took care to wave charmingly across the room to her liege lord, and to murmur a pleasant word to Wulfrid, the Abbess of Wilton, who was seated at her right. That Wulfrid had once long ago been Edgar's mistress, and borne him a daughter, Edith, did not in the least disturb Alfrida. Whatever attractions had awakened Edgar's lust were
gone now. Wulfrid was

  fat, pompous, and thoroughly satisfied by her position as Abbess of England's most fashionable nunnery — an honor she owed to Edgar's conscience. She grunted some polite reply to the Queen's remark, and thereafter applied herself to the spiced venison slices which had been laid on her trencher of thick white bread.

  Nor had Alfrida need to concern herself long with the lady on her left. This was Alfhere's wife, Godleva, and a most unfitting mate for the robust, resplendent Earl of Mercia. Godleva was sickly, a trait inherited by her daughter, Britta. Godleva had headaches and a perpetual cough. She was terrified of strangers and spent her life sipping broths in a darkened apartment in Shrewsbury Castle. Only her husband's threats had brought her here for the Coronation. She sat silent, lost in a fog of headache and timidity, while picking nervously at a roast woodcock.

  Alfrida, seeing that further courtesies on either side of her were unnecessary, gave herself up to various pleasing thoughts.

  The realization of power was far more intoxicating than the wine from Burgundy which filled her gold cup. Power to get certain material things she had long wanted. Lands of her own — Edgar could no longer put her off "until after the Coronation." Those rich grants in Dorset and Hampshire she had asked for. And then she wanted an ermine cloak — fine as the one they said was worn by the Holy Roman Empress. Too there was the rebuilding and furnishing of the rickety royal palace at Winchester. And she must have a suitable crown, not this trumpery little thing of base gold and the quartz called "Scotch diamond." It had been ordered by Dunstan, of course.

  Dunstan, Alfrida looked across the Hall at him, sitting next to Edgar — of course. The Archbishop was smiling in a smug way, Alfrida thought, like a well-fed hound. What a pleasure it would be to eliminate that smile forever, to eliminate this meddlesome autocratic old man, and his ever-present influence on Edgar. That was one of the uses of power — to pay ofi^ old