Avalon

by Anya Seton

  Merewyn heard herself saying this with astonishment, which was cut by Alfrida saying in the old tone of command, "Comb my hair!"

  Merewyn combed Alfrida's now lank, sparse hair. She felt pity and repulsion too. She wondered again why she had come. She came away from the visit only with sadness. And a sense of the last farewell.

  chapteR fouRteen

  In the year 1002, Merewyn and Orm made two decisions, neither of which pleased the other.

  Merewyn had duly become lady-in-waiting to the feeble Queen, Elgifu, and helped with the constant nursing. During this time the Queen delivered a dead baby, and thereafter had a bloody flux from her woman's parts. She dwindled, and whimpered, and at the end often shrieked with pain. Merewyn was sorry for her, but never felt deep attachment, nor could she manage to get the land grants and title of Thane she had wanted for Orm.

  Ethelred said "Yes" one day, and "Perhaps" the next; a week or month would pass, and finding that he had forgotten all about her petition, she would have to start over.

  Most of Ethelred's early comehness had vanished like his mother's. He was often drunk, and thereafter became either raging or maudlin. He enjoyed the company and advice of two men, both of whom were repulsive to Merewyn. One was Cild Aelfric, the son of Alfhere, who had arranged the murder of Edward. The other was a sleazy braggart called Edric Streona.

  In the meantime Viking hordes attacked all parts of England.

  They were led by King Sweyn of Denmark and his stripling son, Canute.

  Ethelred cowered in his palace at Winchester while messengers brought news of fresh raids in Devon and Somerset and Essex. London was attacked, and managed to defend itself, without any help from the King. The Vikings harbored on the Isle of Wight, which they found convenient, or in Normandy. Ethelred decided to buy off King Sweyn. That wily Dane demanded twenty-four thousand pounds but consented to leave his sister, Gunhild, her husband, Earl Pallig, and their little son as hostages. Sweyn eventually went back to Denmark and Orm went too.

  Before he left Orm announced his decision to Merewyn on a February day of thin sunlight and the smell of warming earth. She was sitting in the ladies' section of the Palace gardens, and was embroidering gold armbands for the Queen's funeral. No more twirling spindles or weaving. The servants, dozens of them, did that.

  "I'm leaving here, Mother," said Orm. "I've had my bellyful. I've joined up with Sweyn. I'm to be steersman on one of the longships," he added proudly. "They tried me out."

  "Oh . . ." she said. The nowadays unaccustomed tears gathered in her eyes. "You're not joining England's enemy . . ."

  "England is nothing to me. It's soft as a rotten plum. I want to be fighting with my own kind."

  "Fighting," she repeated, "plundering, raping, murdering . . . oh, my son ..."

  "Well," said Orm with one of his rare smiles, "isn't that all better than doing nothing?'''

  "Of course it isn't," she said angrily. "Besides, Wulfric has been good to you, and by all reports you have been doing plenty. How about those two village girls who claim you fathered their babes?"

  "Possibly I did," Orm shrugged, "but those girls had lain under many a hedgerow before I laid them, and I gave them each some silver."

  Merewyn sighed, and changed the subject. "What did you think would become of me? Now that the poor Queen is dead?"

  "Can't you stay on here?" Orm had not really thought at all. He had a comfortable feeling that his mother was established in the Court life, however unproductive it had been for himself, and he knew that Thora was safe at Romsey.

  "King Ethelred," said Merewyn, putting down her embroidery, and glancing sharply around for the eavesdroppers who infested the Court, "has already sent off to request the hand of Emma, the Duke of Normandy's sister, one of those harebrained indecent moves which come natural to him. He defied most of the Witan to do it."

  Orm started, then burst into a roar of laughter. "A Norman Queen!" he cried. "A descendant of the Vikings! Oh, this is too funny! Ethelred wants to make doubly sure that he never has to fight us. First he buys Sweyn off, then he gets himself allied with Normandy!"

  "Hush!" she cried sharply. "Very few know this yet. The Duke of Normandy may refuse. But I've learned that if Emma comes, she'll bring many Norman ladies with her, and a lot of retainers. There'll be no place for me at Court."

  "Well, then," said Orm briskly. "Go back to Romsey Abbey."

  "I don't want to." She paused, her voice was very low. "I think I shall consent to marry Wulfric."

  "Thor's hammer!" Orm cried, his jaw dropping. "That prosy, fat little thane! D'you mean to say he's still after you?"

  Merewyn was silent, turning her embroidery over and over on her lap. During her time as Queen's lady, Wulfric had come often to Court, he had sought her out in a shy way, he had stammered nervous compliments, he had twice stroked her hand, and asked her to wed him. He said that he knew he wasn't worthy of such a high-born lady's affections, but that he would try to keep her comfortable and contented. And once in the Palace Hall, when Ethelred's chief bard chanted a poem about the wondrous exploits of King Arthur, Wulfric looked at her

  with meaning, and Ethelred, who was in a good mood today, called from the throne, "There, Lady Alerewyn, you have a ballad just for you about your royal forefather."

  Merewyn picked up her needle and plopped it into the canvas. "Thane Wulfric may be dull, but he is kind, as you well know," she said. "And if God would send us a child, we'd both welcome it."

  "Mother!" The back of Orm's neck blushed, as it still did when he was embarrassed. "You're too old for such thoughts! It's outrageous!"

  "I think not, elsknan min." She smiled faintly at his annoyance. "You're about to do as you wish, and I deplore it, but now you must not mind my doing as / wish, too. I'm not too old to bear a child."

  Her dignity silenced Orm, who hated the idea of her marrying Wulfric. He wanted to cry out that Wulfric might not be quite so enamored of her if he knew that she had no royal blood, and that she was betraying his father and her own. He said nothing of this though he was angry.

  "Farewell, Mother." He gave her a half-mocking salute, kissed her hand, and twirling the expensive blue cloak Wulfric had given him, hurried to the gate where his horse was tethered.

  Merewyn sadly watched her son ride away, then she picked up her needlework again. Jesus Christ, Our Lord, bless him, she thought, even though Orm is not one of Thine. Keep him safe! Yet she was conscious that her prayers were ineffectual. They never seemed to have any clear answer. Since coming back to England she had prayed that Orm should be secretly baptized and settle here into a high-ranking position. And now look — he was going oflF to join the enemy host. She could only hope that Ethelred would never know of this. He was capable of cruel revenges. And he was capable of forbidding the marriage to Wulfric which she had now determined on. The King's permission to wed was necessary to people of rank.

  And then her prayers about Rumon. She had so much wanted to see him, even through a grille. Soon after her establishment at Court she had sent a messenger to Tavistock Abbey, asking if a visit from her would be satisfactory. The messenger returned in only four days, bearing a letter which she had great trouble in deciphering, partly because she had had no practice in reading for years, and partly because she did not really want to understand it.

  It was addressed to the Lady Merewyn at King Ethelred's Court, "for so I understand you are again called — my compliments. My Hfe has much altered since we met on Iceland. I deem it best that we should not meet again. I'll remember you in my prayers."

  Merevr^n had felt as though she were slapped across the face with a leather thong. She had been furious and unhappy for weeks, then she had gradually begun to appreciate Wulfric's attentions. They were a salve, a balm, and never more so than now when he appeared at the garden gate looking for her as he often did at this hour.

  What matter that he was short and round, and had small twinkling eyes like a kindly bear; what matter that, as Orm said
, he put his housecarls to sleep with rambling stories of long-past stag hunts, or carried on about his ancestry — his grandfather had been an earl in Mercia, his mother the daughter of a bishop, before Dunstan, Ethelwold, and Oswald imposed clerical celibacy on the land.

  What did these matter against the joy in his round face above the chestnut beard when he saw her start forward to greet him.

  "Wulfric —" she said, holding out her cheek, "do you still want to wed me?"

  "I do, my lady," he kissed her cheek and gave her a tentative squeeze around the waist. "Are ye ready?"

  Her brilliant sea-green eyes looked gravely down into his. "As soon as we can," she said.

  AIerevyn and Wulfric were married in the Thane's manor house chapel by Wulfric's chaplain. Ethelred had absent-mindedly given permission when Wulfric and iMerewyn arrived one evening in the Palace Hall to find the King surrounded by a dozen oil lamps. He was hurriedly signing charters and grants, which were diffidently put before him by an anxious young clerkly monk who was new to the job. The King remarked to Wulfric that the Lady Merewyn seemed to have no dowry any\^here but if the worthy Thane would overlook that, and after all she brought a better lineage to the match than did Wulfric —

  The Thane said he was prepared to overlook the lack of dowry.

  "But —" interrupted Ethelred who was delighted at the arrival of a herald from Normandy with acceptance of his own marriage proposals, "since the lady serv^ed my late mother and my late wife, I'll make her a wedding grant. Let's see." He beckoned to the cowled clerk who came running. "WTiat've we got free that's suitable for the Lady Merewyn who is wedding Thane Wulfric?"

  "In Somerset, sire," said the monk nervously, "or near Abingdon, or in Hampshire — the New Forest."

  "That's it!" cried Ethelred. "She shall have ten hides from the New Forest. She can get the trees cut dowoi and sell 'em. Plenty of trees anyway."

  " 'Tvill lessen your royal hunting preserve," said the monk, still more nervously. "But in Corfe there is much free land which you never visit, sire."

  At the word "Corfe," the young monk saw that he had made a terrible mistake. Ethelred's still young but puffy face darkened. He started to make the sign of the cross, then stopped himself. He glanced at the oil lamps, which always replaced candles when he was in residence. He had a horror of candles. Merewyn saw the gathering irrational anger which she had known for years. She saw coming the petulant ruin of all her hopes.

  "My lord," she said quickly, "I shall be deeply grateful for anything, or nothing, that you grant me, but I do wish you happiness in your own marriage. I have heard that Emma of Normandy is a young and most beautiful woman. The gem of Normandy."

  The King's temper subsided. His rages could always be diverted if one said the right thing, and the coming of Emma was a twofold pleasure. Not only getting a fresh young girl in his bed, but as a political victory over the Norsemen. He saw himself an astute, wily ruler of England. Even his mother would have approved. Though she was dead, and he had often feared her, yet behind most of his actions there was a reference to Alfrida.

  Merewyn and Wulfric waited quietly behind the table where the King was sitting. The monk withdrew a little. "Very well." Ethelred impatiently returned to the matter in hand. "Ten hides of land in the Forest around Bramshaw for the Lady Merewyn, you'll know how to define the boundaries," he said to the clerk. "And get the usual signatures from some of the Witan."

  "Yes, sire," said the clerk. "And —" Ethelred added, "see that the lady gets a mancus of gold for a wedding present." His full pink lips smiled, as he was conscious of generosity, and he inclined his crowned head graciously in acknowledgment of their thanks. He even said he would certainly come to the wedding, which Merewyn did not believe for a moment.

  She had known Ethelred since childhood. There had always been easy promises, immediately forgotten, and there was nothing of possible advantage to Ethelred in attending a thane's marriage.

  As they left the Hall, Merewyn glanced back to see that the writing table had been removed, and that the King was lolling on Cild Aelfric's shoulder, his arm around the neck of this present Earl of Mercia. Aelfric was the same meager, sly, insinuating man he had been as a youth, long ago at Corfe

  Castle. He had not always stayed in favor with Ethelred; there had been banishment for "treachery"; there had been reinstatement. Merewyn had wondered if Ethelred knew how much Aelfric had connived in the murder of Edward which put Ethelred on the throne. And if it were true that Aelfric had arranged this coming marriage to Emma.

  At her last glimpse, Ethelred and Aelfric with arms interlocked were sipping wine from each other's lips.

  "Ugh!" said Merewyn. She was very glad to be leaving that slimy miasmic Court, and correspondingly grateful to Wulfric for being the means of rescuing her.

  Merewyn's wedding day passed without incident. She wore a blue silk gown, heavily embroidered with gold bands, and a gold tissue veil over her looped auburn braids. The stuffs had been sent for to London, and made up very quickly by the most skilled of Wulfric's handmaidens. Wulfric gave her a garnet necklace and she wore that. She looked charming and younger than she was. She was calm, far more than Wulfric who sweated heavily in his new velvet tunic.

  "After all, dear," said Merewyn with the amused indulgence she felt for him, " 'tis the second time for us both —" and only a faint jab reminded her that she had not really been married to Sigurd. Nobody knew this. She had let everyone assume that during her unfortunate years in "Ireland," she had been forcibly wed to one of the Christianized Norsemen there. Wulfric was not one to probe or question. At the age of forty-five he had fallen in love, and been awed by the exalted object of his love. His first wife had been a simple reeve's daughter.

  He did not even question Orm's disappearance. He said it was a pity that Merewyn might not have her son at the wedding, but perhaps Orm would return in time, and anyway young men were like that.

  Thora came to the wedding with Sister Herluva, though the Abbess Elfled sent polite regrets and best wishes, also thanks

  for the gifts Merewyn had recently been sending to Romsey.

  The King's grant and the mancus of gold had been promptly transferred to Merewyn, thanks to the clerical monk's efficiency, and to the fact that Ethelred had not had to think of them again.

  Herluva had dressed Thora in ivory whites with a soft blue mantle. The girl herself, vaguely knowing that she was going on a journey for a special occasion, had made a wreath of daisies which became her.

  Merewyn saw the lewd glances from most of Wulfric's housecarls, and finally decided not to take Thora to live here. In the convent, the child was safe, and Herluva as solid and affectionate a guardian as one could wish. The sinister memory of Freydis darted through Merewyn and she shuddered, giving thanks for escape. Though all was not perfect here in England, there had been gains. Many of them.

  And now I shall be content enough, Merewyn thought, looking at her bridegroom — if it weren't for Orm.

  There was no such thing as pure happiness. How many years it took to learn that! Always some dark fretted thing which unbalanced the ease one had laboriously found. So now it was Orm, and this worry must be hidden. It occurred to her that other things must be hidden too.

  She put them all aside, and resolutely enjoyed the moment.

  She had just become the wife of a rich Enghsh thane. This was the Bride-Ale party. Two bards provided music, and an occasional ballad. The guests were getting properly drunk on the unending flow of mead, ale, and wine. Merewyn, herself, was sleepy and anxious to be done with the duty which remained to her. She knew that it would not be like the first night with Sigurd. Nor was it.

  She had to help Wulfric, who was at first very timid. She felt nothing beyond a rather maternal affection, and was pleased when his grunts showed satisfaction. She was glad that her body still gave pleasure and that she could repose herself in the little Thane's arms. It was comfortable there — and safe. The laven-

  der-scented
linen of the sheets made her feel safe. And the distant night noises of the huge Manor, You could hear the servants shuffling about as they put new rushes on the Hall floor. You could hear a serf whistling in the bakehouse where the wonderful white loaves were rising. She never let herself dwell on all the years when a loaf of fresh crusty white bread had been a constant longing. She now looked towards a placid future, where luxuries would be taken for granted. Not that she would be idle; there was plenty for the Lady of a large Manor to do, and she expected to move Wulfric towards more interest in his many other properties. They would travel together and inspect them. The journeys would be agreeable and so would the regulation of any laxity they found. There was no doubt that Wulfric was indolent, but that was a very small fault compared to others she had lived with.

  Again she thought of Orm. Dear Lord, stop him somehow from doing violence to others, wherever he is!

  Ashley Manor was less than ten miles west of Winchester. Servants were constantly sent back and forth to buy sundries from the capital which the Manor could not supply. Particularly the Burgundy wine which Wulfric loved. Thus Merewyn kept up with the news. She knew when the new Queen-to-be arrived at Southampton from Normandy, and how Ethelred had gone there to meet her. That he took a thousand housecarls and thanes and earls with him. That he wore, not only the elaborate crown Dunstan had made for his father, but Athelstan's sword, and a velvet mantle so thickly embroidered with gold that he could scarcely walk under the weight of it when he dismounted.

  She heard that Emma was small, dark, and pretty. That she looked downcast and spoke only in whispers to the bevy of Normans who accompanied her.

  Merewyn heard that the wedding was to take place on Easter Day, April 5th, and was pleased when a messenger from the Palace arrived with an invitation. Though there was no reason