Avalon

by Anya Seton

  If I got her another gift, he thought, a New Year's ofi^ering? A magnificent ring, perhaps? He pondered gloomily how this

  might be arranged. There were no foreign ships in the harbors. The nearest skilled goldsmith was at Winchester. iMoreover, Rumon had spent most of his cash on the earher gifts. His Somerset property would have supported him well enough if he had lived there to supervise his reeve, his tenants and serfs. But from Corfe, he could not control laxness and dishonesty on his estate. Then there had been the famine last year and greatly decreased revenue. What could I sell? he thought, looking around his sparse httle Hall. It must be land then. Nothing else would provide a ring worthy of Alfrida. As he thought of her, he was seized by a spasm of yearning so sharp that he groaned.

  At that moment the church bells rang out through the chilly twilight drizzle, and Rumon was suddenly reminded that this was his twenty-fourth birthday. I should go to Midnight Mass, he thought dully. I always did. Yet of what use to go to Mass, since he dared not go to confession to the village priest in Corfe, and therefore could not take Communion. Last Christmas he had ridden four miles to Wareham and confessed a vague tale of fornication to a hurried priest who did not know him and gave him a light penance. This year the trip seemed not worth the effort.

  He got up and began to pace the rush-strewn floor. Alfrida took the Sacraments in her tiny private chapel. She had told him so, recounting with a wistful smile all the scoldings and penances she endured from her chapel priest for Rumon's sake.

  He had felt horribly guilty and loved her the more, yet he could not forbear saying that these sins need not be. She had but to marry him.

  To this she replied only by another sad smile.

  He stopped pacing and listened in surprise to a distant commotion from the Castle end of the village — heavy thumps of galloping hoofs, and the long drawn-out blare of horns. Visitors? he thought. Or some Yuletide celebration? Would not this unusual hubbub provide an excuse for going to the Castle, even though Alfrida had said that Ethelred should have no

  lessons through the twelve days of Christmas, and had issued no invitation for Rumon to join the festivities.

  Rumon sank down in his chair again, marshaling the nearly vanished remnants of his pride. I am an atheling, he thought, a prince of England. And I am her lover. Why then should I fear to intrude on her, why do I fear that she would scorn me as a beggar, a suppHcant?

  His legs tensed as if to carry him to the Castle of their own will, and yet he did not move. Some time went by, and so profound was his interior conflict that his mind dulled to apathy, and he stared unseeing at the leaping flames on his hearth.

  He did not hear a knock on his front door, but he emerged to awareness at the rattling of the wooden latch. Wulfgar ivith a suvrmons from her! he thought in a great burst of relief.

  He rushed to open the door and saw Merewyn standing on the step. "Yes, it's me," said the girl quietly. "You are disappointed, I see." She walked to the fire, and warmed her wet hands. The hood of her amber cloak slipped back disclosing her garnet-colored hair which was darkened by rain around her small square face. Her eyes, smoky-blue in the fireUght, regarded him with a kind of rueful sadness.

  "You expected a message from her, no doubt," she said in a flat voice. "Take heart, for in a way I bear one, though it is really from the King."

  "The King?^^ repeated Rumon, staring. "Young Edward? What are you talking about, Merewyn?"

  "The King has just arrived in Corfe for a surprise visit to Lady Alfrida. Many noblemen are with him including —" she paused, "Alfhere of the Mercians. As you can imagine, the Castle is in turmoil. The housecarls are all frantic, running hither and yon trying to prepare a feast. That is why / was sent to you."

  "I still don't understand," he said.

  She sighed, and shook her head. "Rumon, Rumon — there is so much that you don't understand, alas. Nor did I, once. I was be-glamoured like you. Oh, poor Rumon," she cried.

  "You've grown so pale and thin! You have a look of suffering."

  He heard the sorrow in her voice, he saw the softness in her eyes and was vaguely touched, but clearly — as though etched in the air beside her — he saw another face.

  "What did she say? What were you sent to tell me?" he asked vehemently.

  "The King bids you to the Christmas feast tomorrow. And Lady Alfrida wonders how many of the thanes you can accommodate here tonight, and for the duration of their stay."

  He swallowed. This was not the message he had hoped for; still it was not reasonable to expect Merewyn to bear anything more personal, and at least he would see Alfrida on the morrow. Amongst the bustle of all that throng, there would certainly be some way to see her alone, to tell her about the ring, to rekindle the love he felt sure was only dormant.

  "I suppose I could take a half-dozen thanes," he said. "On the benches here," he gestured around the hall, "and one or two clean ones," he smiled faintly, "might share my bed."

  She nodded. "The Castle is cramped, as you know. The King will share Ethelred's bed."

  That startled him. "This all seems very odd," he said frowning. "Heretofore, Edward has shown no desire to see those whom he in effect exiled to Corfe. He behaved with the most unjust enmity to — to the Lady and Ethelred. Nor do I understand why he appears here with Alfhere who has done his best to spht the kingdom and ruin the monks."

  "I beheve Alfhere has repented," she said. "At least they say that he came humbly to Winchester and made his peace with Edward, who himself has altered. He is brimming with happiness, and wishes well to all the world. It seems that at this Christmastide he wanted to make friends with his half brother."

  "How extraordinary! Do you know what caused this remarkable change?"

  She was quiet a moment, looking at his strong, lean face, the shining black hair which he kept short, the dark somber eyes

  under heavily marked eyebrows. "The King is in love," she said very low, and blushed. ^^Happily in love," she added, "which I observe — now that I'm full grown ^—is not the common lot."

  For the first time he looked at her attentively. Aye, she was full grown, must be eighteen or so. Despite the freckles on her blunt little nose, the width of her pink mouth and all that strange dark red hair, no doubt most men found her attractive. She had full breasts, outlined as were her full hips by her green wool robe though the embroidered girdle between proclaimed a small waist. He noted that her shoes were muddy, and that there was a smooch of mud on her round cheek, and though the mud was natural considering the dirty walk she had had from the Castle, he nevertheless at once contrasted her with the slender, elegant, and fragrant Alfrida.

  "You've so far found no happiness in love?" he asked kindly, and remembered with some effort what Dunstan had said long ago. He never thought of Dunstan willingly. "Gunnar, perhaps? I suppose he came with the King?"

  "He did." She tossed her head. "But I shall never marry Gunnar, that Da?ie/ Rumon — as soon as Yuletide is over, I am leaving Corfe. I'm going to my Aunt Merwinna at Romsey Abbey."

  "What!" he cried. "But you can't. Alfrida needs you, she'd never let you go, nor should you! What possible reason have you?"

  Merewyn was silent, longing with all her honest soul to tell him the truth. She answered him only in her mind. Because I can no longer bear to watch your senseless infatuation for that woman, nor watch your anguish when you finally understand what she is. As you certainly will — for there is danger coming. And don't you think I know — that all the Castle knows — for what purpose she has so often slipped out of an afternoon when she is supposed to be resting? Don't you know how you give yourself away when you look at her? This I can no longer bear to watch. Why do you think you've seen me so seldom when

  you are at the Castle? But you don't think of me — you never have. Yet I love you too much to torment you. Or I could tell you of the letters I know she has received from Earl Alfhere. I could point out that while there was never room at the Castle for you, Alfhere this very night is to slee
p in the small chamber adjoining hers. I could tell you that there is evil seeping through the Castle, I don't know what it is, but I'm afraid. Sometimes I've slept near Alfrida, and she has talked in her sleep. She talked of murder, of a bleeding clay puppet bristling with pins. She suspects that I heard, and as I am repelled by her, and am no longer deft at stroking and tending that white body you keep desiring — I'm sure she will let me go.

  "Merewyn!" he said sharply. "Why don't you speak? You haven't answered me!"

  Merewyn sighed. She clasped and unclasped her hands in the old childish way he remembered. "My Aunt Merwinna is unwell. Her heart isn't strong. She wishes me to come."

  "Bah! As though she didn't have a hundred nuns and novices to care for her!"

  "She wants someone of her own blood."

  But you aren^t! It nearly burst from him, in his anger that she should be so callously deserting Alfrida. Indeed his deathbed vow to Breaca now seemed as vapid as did all the other prayers and trappings of religion. He might have broken his word this minute, had not Merewyn lifted her chin and said fervently, "The thought of my descent from King Arthur has helped me through many a desolate hour."

  Rumon softened despite his annoyance, and he reflected that if her lack of rank were known she would not be considered a fitting lady to serve Alfrida. And he wanted Merewyn to stay at the Casde. For it occurred to him that though she was earthy, a bastard, and of lowly stock, yet there was a charm and comfortableness about her. He would persuade her not to leave Alfrida.

  "I must go now," Merewyn said, rising. "The Christmas feast

  is at eleven tomorrow. Rumon, isn't this your birthday? Will you attend midnight Mass?"

  "No," he said.

  She pulled her cloak about her and spoke in a dry, cool voice, most unlike her. "I can guess why. Well, I shall pray for you tonight — no matter how presumptuous you may think it."

  "Pray for me?'''' He smiled and said in the amused tone he had so often used to her, "What would you pray for me, child?"

  "For your redemption." She bowed slightly and was out of the door before he recovered from astonishment.

  At the Castle the housecarls and serfs worked all night — slaughtering pigs and sheep for the feast, turning spits to roast the meat, building a bonfire on the level slope below the Castle gate where villagers and other humble folk would join in welcoming their King (as well as the Christ Child), by devouring an ox. The baker sweated at his ovens, serving wenches scurried from the cellars bearing flagons of wine, while the men trundled casks of mead and ale to the courtyard before Alfrida's great Hall.

  Upstairs in the Castle, Edward and Ethelred slept side by side in bed, oblivious to all the commotion below them. Gunnar dozed on a pallet near them — ever aware of his duty as the young King's body thane.

  Ethelred had been flattered by his half brother's warm kiss of greeting and delighted with the presents Edward brought, especially a well-trained falcon from the far North. Ethelred's spiteful jealousy of Edward had waned since the latter actually became King, especially as Alfrida never mentioned Edward anymore.

  Before going to bed the boys played a lively game of tipcat together, followed by a wrestling match which Edward allowed Ethelred to win, thereby puffing up the younger lad with pride and a satisfaction which he seldom found in Hfe. Before they slept they talked in mutual excitement about the boar hunt which

  would follow the feast tomorrow. They made plans for a bear-baiting too. Ethelred had previously shrunk from the dangers inherent in either boar- or bear-hunting, yet now Edward's good humor inspired him to confidence and a touch of hero worship for this brother who was four years older, and also a king. They linked arms before they slept.

  In the Bower, Merewyn did not sleep. She listened to the turmoil outside and to Britta's hiccuping snores, while she had many dreary thoughts.

  There was no sleep in Alfrida's chamber, where Alfhere was sitting on her bed guzzling mead. Shortly before, they had both been naked in the bed together violently satisfying their mutual lust. Now he was robed, and she had wrapped the ermine coverlet around her. The December night was chill, the fire scarcely warmed the room.

  "Well, my dear—" said the Earl, wiping his mustache. "You've not lost your skill at bed sport. Been having practice?"

  She shrugged. "Not really. Now and then. Hardly matters."

  "Rumon?" asked the Earl chuckling, "Or some brawny house-carl?"

  "Certainly not a housecarl," she snapped. "What do you take me for!"

  "It's hard to say." He chuckled again and pincned her thigh, then frowned into his mead tankard. "And there are more important things for us to talk of. The least — that Godleva worsens, but she doesn't die. Who would think there'd be such strength in that withered, coughing, bleeding body! At times I feel pity. May God relieve her soon."

  Alfrida sighed. "I have been patient," she murmured, her golden head drooping, "patient as you told me to be, but you can't conceive the boredom and humiliations I've suffered — mewed up here in this benighted little dower house!"

  He shrugged and getting up, made a tour of the chamber. He opened the door, inspected the empty passage outside, pulled down the latch again and wedged it.

  "Gytha's sorcery seems entirely ineffectual," he said, hastily crossing himself. "On the contrary Edward flourishes stronger every day. You did go to Gytha?" he added angrily.

  "Of course. I gave her three pieces of gold with promise of more when — it happened. And since then I've sent Wulfgar to Winchester with urgent messages and silver."

  "Wulfgar — that clumsy dog-faced housecarl? You trust him?"

  She nodded. "Because he is like a dog, and devoted to me. He'll do anything I say but you needn't think he understands his errands. He's not got the wit."

  Alfhere clenched his hairy fists while he scowled at her lovely anxious face. "We can't wait much longer for Gytha's efforts to succeed. Edward is to be married at Easter, and nine months later for sure there'll be an heir to the throne nearer than your precious Ethelred — Or me," he added beneath his breath.

  "You?^^ she repeated, staring at him.

  "Aye. Haven't you thought of that, my sweet? I'm of the line of Cerdic, I was kin to Edgar. You might be full Queen again . . . Ah, that thought pleases you!"

  She had opened her eyes vnde and they shone like amethysts.

  "Unfortunately, we must face certainties. With Dunstan, Oswald, Ethelwold, and all the rest of the gaggle of monks against me, I'd not stand a chance of election by the Witan. Nor am I strong enough to take the throne by force. At present. We must still count on Ethelred and after that, we'll have power enough."

  She shivered voluptuously, pulling the ermine coverlet tighter around her naked shoulders. "What is in your mind, Alfhere?" she whispered. "What plan have you? Not here and now, surely?" her pupils darkened in sudden fear.

  He shook his head and tugged at his mustache. "Not now when Edward has brought along fifty of his loyal thanes, and has Gunnar always beside him. No, we must show the greatest friendliness, we must lull any suspicion. That is why I went

  humbly to Winchester to make my "peace." You will charm Edward, as you know so well how to. This Christmas feast shall be one of perfect amity. Edward shall enjoy it so that he will soon return. And then ..."

  "And then . . ." she repeated. Her heart was fast beating, but she looked exultantly into his eyes. He gave a grunt and drank some mead. "Enough of that for now," he said. "Shall we return to more amusing matters?" He ran his hand up her bare thigh beneath her robe. "Oh, but this reminds me — keep Rumon besotted over you, so that he suspects nothing. His good will might be invaluable later."

  She nodded slowly. "As you wish, my lord. Though one wearies of bread and milk when one has a taste for other diets."

  Alfhere threw back his head, laughing, then grabbed her around the waist.

  chApteR SIX

  That Yuletide passed merrily at Corfe. Every day there was hunting, or bear-baiting, or a troup of dancing tumb
lers to watch. Every night at dusk there was a feast, while the King's gleemen chanted new songs and twanged their harps. Edward enjoyed himself mightily, and was amazed to find how sympathetic was the stepmother he had once detested. Alfrida Hstened, smiling, to his stammered confidences about Uttle Elgifu, how he missed her and wished that her parents had not requested that she go to York for the hohdays, how he wished that the wedding might take place earlier, but knew that there was not time for proper preparation before Lent, and that during Lent, of course, nobody might be married. So wasn't it fortunate that Easter was early this year — the last day of March!

  Alfrida assented to these raptures, assented too when Edward said that she and Ethelred must attend the wedding as honored guests, that Winchester Palace would open all its chambers for the occasion. Her conduct was perfect, as Alfhere assured her in private. He was delighted with her. And so for different reasons was Rumon.

  Alfrida found occasion to see Rumon alone on Christmas Day

  and all her recent coldness had vanished. She gave him tender looks, pressed against him and stroked his hand while whispering that she longed for another tryst, but they must discreetly wait until the King and his company left and then she added, touching his cheek with her lips, they might really make plans for their marriage— at Eastertide perhaps Kke Edward. Rumon had gone off to his lodging that night in a joyful daze.

  Why then should he have suffered so appalling a nightmare? It was a repetition of the dream five years ago in Brittany and never thought of since. Here again was the beautiful naked woman, ivory and gold except for rosy nipples on uptilted breasts, here again a face not quite seen, yet emanating cruelty, power, and great allure. But this time in his dream Rumon knew who the woman was, and when he reached towards her as he had before, horror seized him. He saw blood behind her, cataracts of blood, streaming, falling, splashing, he saw that her white feet were dabbled with blood, her clenched hands were stained crimson, and as before from somewhere there came a peal of harsh malicious laughter. The laughter of a demon.