by Anya Seton
He awoke with a shout of fear to find that the young visiting thane who shared his bed was shaking him. "J^^u!" said the young thane crossly. "What ails you. Lord Rumon? You've been groaning and shouting fit to wake the dead. For sure / can't sleep!"
Rumon sat up, pressing his palms to his eyes; he was trembling and waited a moment to control himself. "I'm sorry," he said. "The Devil sent one of his monsters to beset me. Only a dream," he added quickly. He touched the golden crucifix which he still wore around his neck. "And one should give no credence to dreams. They are a mockery."
"No doubt," said the young thane yawning and rolling onto his side. "I never have 'em myself." In a moment he was snoring.
Rumon got out of bed and poured himself a mug of wine. By the time he had finished it the horror had faded; he began to feel wry amusement and shame for having groaned and cried out
like a child. And how ridiculous to have thought the nightmare woman was Alfrida since he had not really seen her face.
By consequence of feeling that his dream had somehow so grossly wronged her, his love had increased when he saw her at the Castle Gate early next morning. The drawbridge was down, as it always was, and she was standing near the inner end, between two small square brick towers which had been built to house the archers and guards who had in Alfred's time been necessary for defense against Viking marauders. King Alfred, himself, had seen to the fortification of the little Castle, which was of strategic importance by reason of its position high on the hill at "Corfe Gate" — the passage through the Purbeck range.
Alfrida was dressed in the ivory-white she so often wore, a fine new wool gown embroidered with gold thread; and Rumon who had seen her in it yesterday assumed that the young King had presented the expensive gown as an early New Year's gift.
The day was unusually warm for the season; she wore no mantle though her head was covered by a white veil and golden circlet, for she had just been to Mass in her chapel. She looked as fresh and sparkling as the sunlit morning, and Rumon's heartbeat thickened.
She made a slow gesture, rather as though she were pointing out something, and as Rumon came nearer, he was unpleasantly startled to see that she was deep in converse with Alfhere. Rumon thought her as repelled by the Mercian Earl's coarse manners, braying laugh, and bold cynical stare as he was himself. Why then was she chatting alone with the Earl at so unlikely a place as the Castle Gate? And why, as Rumon crossed the drawbridge, did she start and frown, saying angrily, "Ah, you're very early today!"
"Forgive me," Rumon said flushing. "I didn't mean to be intrusive."
Alfrida recovered at once. "You're most welcome, always." She gave him her warmest smile, holding out her hand for him to kiss. "I was asking the Earl's advice. As you see the steps
here are somewhat rotted. I was wondering if they could be replaced by stone ones. The Earl has much building experience."
They all looked at the narrow steps which led from behind the mounting block by the gate up to the Castle's inner ward, and Alfrida's private apartments.
"I believe," drawled the Earl cocking his massive head and surv^eying Alfrida with amusement, "that she might at least have the bottom steps replaced with marble from that old quarry the Romans used. WTiat do you say, my lord?"
Rumen said, "Yes, indeed," while thinking that the matter was of scant interest, and trying to quell an uncomfortable feehng that the steps were not at all what the two had been discussing. But then, what else could it have been?
"Come breakfast with me, Rumon," she said softly, putting her hand on his arm. "There's been such a crowd here of late, I've scarce seen you at all."
The Earl laughed. "I perceive that I'm dismissed. Ah, would that / were a handsome young gallant! I'll remain here. Lady, and — take measurements."
She nodded without looking at Alfhere, and led the way up the private stairs to her chamber.
Merew^^n was in the Bower, kneeling by a painted chest into M'hich she was folding Alfrida's body linen, and sprinkling it with lavender buds. Her eyes widened when she saw Rumon, her hands shook; she spilled some of the lavender onto the rush-strewn floor.
"Lord Rumon and I will breakfast in my chamber," said Alfrida in a cold tone. "Tell a housecarl to bring up some of the spiced French wine, and a venison pasty."
Alerewyn bowed and said nothing. Her wide pink mouth tightened.
"That girl —" said Alfrida entering her own chamber and indicating that Rumon should sit beside her on the bed. "How she has altered! Sulky, grudging of service, and she has phantasies. I begin to think she's gone daft. One can scarcely believe
a word she says — when she does speak. I'm dismissing her. She can go to her aunt at Romsey — and good riddance."
Rumon swallowed. "I thought you were fond of Merewyn."
Alfrida shrugged delicately. "I suppose I was, until I discovered her real character. And she's turned rough. She yanks out my hair when she combs it — and look!" Alfrida in one quick gesture pulled her gown down to the waist, and turning, exhibited her slender white back. "See that bruise below the shoulder blade? I swear she pinched me last night!"
Rumon saw the bluish spot. He bent over and kissed it. "Poor darling," he said, and his hands went of themselves to cup the round breasts.
"Not now, dear —" She gave a husky little laugh. "The housecarl will be coming. Later we can bolt the door." She kissed him on the lips, and pulled her gown around her shoulders.
He drew back, his hands fell slowly. He looked at her, beseeching. "Jesu —" he whispered. "It's been so long — so long."
"I know," she said, nestling against him. "Wait only for an hour or so."
"I don't mean that —" he cried. "Yes, I do, but when can we tell them all that you will be mine forever? Today, when he returns from the hunt, couldn't we tell Edward that we will wed? For sure, he'll give his blessing."
Alfrida was silent a minute. Why not? she thought. This announcement would disarm all possible suspicion. Not that there was any suspicion now — except, perhaps, Merewyn, who was no longer of consequence as she was to be got rid of quickly. But later there might be suspicion — and if it attached to Rumon, would that be harmful? No. Besides a betrothal was not a marriage. Could be broken — most virtuously broken, if Rumon could be made to seem involved.
She slowly bent her lovely head. "At dinner," she agreed. "We'll tell Edward and the rest."
Sweat broke out on Rumon. He fell to his knees in front of her, putting his head on her lap, murmuring incoherent gratitude
and endearments. He called her his angel, his white dove. He told her of the plans he had so often wistfully made for their future. Rescue from this paltry Castle. The building of a Castle worthy of her on his own lands, and while it was a-build-ing they would travel to other countries. To Ireland, perhaps. Ethelred might go too, said Rumon. He knew how devoted she was to her son, who would profit by change and new companions. He told her how he had admired the saintlike way in which she had forgiven Edward's early slights, how he admired her goodness, and her tolerance even of Alfhere, yet he was sure her happiness would increase if they eschewed the intrigues either of the Court or the Monastic party — leave England at least for a while, adventure forth together in a dream of love.
He did not look up to Alfrida's face where the underHp had thrust out revealing the gleam of her lower teeth; he did not see the raised eyebrows, nor the curl of her nostrils, while she stroked his dark hair. Blessed Christ! she thought. Ireland! And rustication in the wilds of Somerset, as though Corfe weren't bad enough!
She spoke only once. "Rumon, have you the means for all these costly plans? Alas, I have but scant property and a poor widow's pension."
He brushed this aside. "The means will come, beloved. For now I can make full confession and go to Mass again, and God will help us. I shall give thanks to Him and He will help us."
Alfrida barely choked back a derisive sound. She had a very shrewd idea of Rumon's resources, yet for a moment — so eloquent was he
— had wondered if she could possibly have been mistaken. It was apparent that she was not. St. Mary, what a fool he was! And she pushed his head from her lap with rehef as the housecarl came in bearing food.
At noon, Rumon emerged from Corfe Castle, bound for his lodging in the village where he would don his most splendid clothes in readiness for the betrothal announcement to the King.
He crossed the drawbridge at the gate, and ran exultantly down the steep slope towards the swineherd's thatched hut which marked the boundary between Castle grounds and village. The early sun had vanished behind heavy brown clouds; there was snow-smell in the air, and Rumon's eager footsteps crunched on freezing grass beside the flinty path. Until she blocked his way, he did not notice Merewyn who came breathless from behind the swineherd's hut.
"Rumon!" she cried. "Rumon—"she faltered, seeing that his face was transfigured; no longer seeming thin, and older than his years, no longer sorrowful. Indeed he gave her a brilliant smile. "What are you doing here?" he asked, laughing. "Jumping out at folk like a bogle!"
"I wanted to say farewell. I leave this afternoon. There's a couple of the King's thanes returning to Winchester. They'll drop me at Romsey."
"Ah, I'm sorry for that," he said. "Then you'll not be here for the announcement of my betrothal."
She shrank against the hut's plank wall. "Your ivhatF'^
"My betrothal to the Lady Alfrida. We'll be married at Eastertide."
She put her hands to her chest and pressed hard against the sick thudding of her heart. "You're mad," she whispered. "Bewitched."
He threw his head back and frowned. "What's the matter with you! If you are my friend, as you've always pretended to be, you should rejoice."
She glanced up towards the Castle where a noisy dogfight was engaging a group of thanes, she looked down the village street where three ragged children were skipping over a leather thong. All their elders were at work. There was nobody near.
"Rumon, I must warn you," said Merewyn, her voice shaking. "She's evil. She means evil. I know it. I swear it." She crossed herself solemnly. "Escape whilst you can. Oh, dear Lord Jesus Christ, make Rumon believe me —" she added, half sobbing,
while her voice slurred into the Cornish accent she had nearly-conquered.
Outraged, furious, he glared at her a moment. Then he shook his head. "Poor child," he said. "She told me about you. I had forgotten since so much came later. Poor child, 'tis well for you you're going to the Abbess's care."
She drew in her breath, her pupils dilated to blackness in her frenzy of eJffort to reach through to him. "I'm going to my aunt, because I'm afraid to stay here, and because Lady Alfrida now hates me. Don't you kno^w that there has been blood already on her hands. There wiU be more. Do you think it should be mine — or yours?"
Down Rumon's spine there went a chill; it induced fresh anger. "Bah!" he said. "You rave! Farewell, and may God cleanse your muddled wits."
"Listen to me!" she cried with desperate courage. "Alfhere is her lover. They conspire together ... ah, you don't believe this either! Who do you think gave her the new white gown? The squirrel mantle? The gold enamel brooch — I forgot, she has not worn that when you were near!"
His hands raised as though to strike her. She flinched but stood still, pressing against the wooden wall.
His arms dropped. "You lie, Merewyn," he* said hoarsely. "Even as she said you do. Now it is not for your sake I'm glad you're going but that she will no longer be threatened by an adder's forked tongue."
Merewyn sagged. Her nose grew pink, her chin trembled, tears welled down her pale cheeks. "If I swear to the truth by the Body of Our Blessed Lord, and tell you what I have heard, what I have seen . . ." She choked; dabbed at her blinding tears with her sleeve.
Into Rumon's mind there darted a curious irrelevance. He had never seen Alfrida weep. Aye, but of course he had. The noble grief for Edgar when he lay dying.
"Rumon!" Merewyn cried, clutching at his arm, "I pray you ..."
"Enough," he said, shaking oif her hand. "I'll never listen to your wicked hes." He turned and stalked down the village street, leaving her alone.
The Corfe Castle feast at dusk that afternoon was the gayest of all this Yuletide's festivities. The young Kling was in high spirits. He had speared a great boar in the forest — single-handed— and knew that his thanes were impressed by his courage. In fact, Godwin, the royal gleeman, made up a new song, extolling the King's feat, and sang it for them while the wassail bowl was passed up and down the High Table. And Edward was happy because — though he had much enjoyed his visit to Corfe — he was returning to Winchester on the morrow, and very soon Elgifu and her parents would come there too, and he might at least see her often during the Lenten period of waiting for their wedding.
When Rumon and Alfrida rose hand in hand, and kneeling before the King, asked his consent and blessing on their betrothal, Edward gave one of his rare, boyish laughs. "Why 't-tis an excellent idea!" he cried. "See how one m-marriage leads to another! M-my cousin Rumon and my Lady M-mother. Seems fitting! What do you say, Ethelred?" He turned to his young brother, who had already drunk a great deal of the strong spiced wine, and looked confused. His beautiful young face was flushed, his pale golden head drooped. "What-chyou mean?" he asked thickly. He tried to focus on Rumon and Alfrida who were both dressed in red — the bridal color.
Edward gave Ethelred a good-natured thwack on the shoulder. "Never m-mind, you little toper," he said smiling. "Your consent's not needed, and I freely give m-mine!"
A roar of congratulations surged around the Hall. Shouts of
"Wassail!" "Wassail!" and the answering "Drink heil!" "Drink heil!"
Rumon pot his arm around Alfrida's waist; he kissed her on the lips, yet at the same time, without full awareness of it, he watched Alfhere. The Earl's shouts of congratulations were as fervent as anyone's. More than that, he leaped upon a bench and made a boisterous speech extolling the pleasures of the marriage bed, and wishing the new-affianced couple a lusty brood of progeny to carry on their august lines.
By midnight almost everyone was drunk. Gunnar, though staggering, helped his master and Ethelred up to bed. The thanes sprawled on the benches. Even the normally temperate Rumon had succumbed, and slept with his head on Alfrida's lap.
All the candles had guttered out, except the huge one — as big around as a neck — on which an approximation of the hours was marked with encircling red paint. It acted as the Castle clock, and burned down for twenty-four hours. Alfrida glanced at it, then dared at last to look towards Alfhere. He had drunk as much as any of them, but he had an iron head and never showed his liquor, and he sat with chin propped on fists, watching Alfrida, down the table from him. She had barely sipped the wassail, and alert for the safe moment^ now made a cautious signal.
Rumon did not move as she eased his head down on the bench. "I'm going to the latrine," she murmured to him, in case there might be a remnant of consciousness. There was not.
She glided from behind the table and out of the door to the inner ward. Alfhere followed in a minute. Nobody else stirred in the whole besotted Castle.
The two conferred for some rime. The next day Alfhere departed with the King and his company.
The winter weeks passed quickly for Rumon. He kept busy, riding, hawking and practicing archery. His intellectual interests returned. He entertained himself by making a new English
translation of Bocthius, the Roman philosopher, lingering plea-surably on such statements as "Who can give law to lovers? Love is a greater law to itself."
And he made up riddles to amuse Alfrida.
He saw her daily at the Castle, but there was no more carnal intimacy between them. Rumon had gone back to Wareham and made full confession to the priest at St. Mary's, fie had been absolved from his sins of fornication, having vowed that they would not recur, and he found contentment and relief at being once more enabled to take the Sacrament at Mass. After all he and Alfrida had but to wait through Lent until
their wedding and the blessing of the Church on their fleshly union.
Alfrida agreed, as she did to everything he proposed during this time. She looked docilely at the plans he drew for their castle in Somerset. She listened to his descriptions of the wonders of Ireland — descriptions Rumon had garnered from the monk Finian at Glastonbury. She smiled at the riddles, particularly one about a bookworm which ended, "And yet-that stealthy thief in the dark was never made the wiser by the words he swallowed."
In March, past the middle of Lent it occurred to Rumon that his beloved did not look well. She had grown thin, there were shadows beneath the violet eyes, and at times she had a strained anxious expression, almost as though she were waiting for something which did not come.
He taxed her gently with too much Lenten fasting; indeed when he dined with her she ate almr^st nothing. She seemed startled, but said that perhaps he was right. "Only I get so tired of greens and salt fish. I believe I heard that off St. Aldhelm's Head the mackerel are running. S^^mething fresh would tempt my palate. Could you arrange that?"
Rumon instantly said that he could, f lis chief housecarl, Le/jf, had once been a fisherman on the Severn,
"Will you go with your servant, Rumon?" she asked softly. "Make an expedition of it. Take Ethelred too, the boy wants a
change. I shall rest in bed a few days, for 'tis true I've not felt quite myself."
And so it was arranged. Alfrida retired to her chamber under the care of Lady Britta and Lady Walsiga — the fat, stupid wife of a Dorset thane who had been commandeered to replace Alerewyn.
The fishing expedition was gone for three days. Ethelred was not only excessively bored, but he was afraid to put out to sea in the oval hide-bound coracles. He spent his time lolling in St. Aldhelm's Chapel, and badgering its sohtary monk.
