Avalon

by Anya Seton

  for surprise, a King's thane and the royal Lady Merewyn would hardly be overlooked by all the clerks deputed to issue invitations.

  There was a small bustle as to what they would wear, and Merewyn was heartily thankful that her husband was rich enough to send to London where they bought new mantles, and Wulf ric proudly presented her with a gold coronet to hold down her veil.

  "Ye've a right to wear it m'dear —" said he. "Anyone wi' royal blood has."

  Merewyn's heart gave a heavy thud. "I haven't really —" she began. "That's only for the descendants of the right line of Cerdic, I think," she added lamely.

  "There were two of the late Queen's ladies wore 'em," said Wulfric giving her a loving doggy look. "And you did too sometimes, only it was brass. I used to want to give you a real gold circlet and now I have."

  "Yes," she said, then smiling put her hand on his plump knee. "Am I making you happy, Wulfric?"

  This kind of question puzzled him. Whyever did she put it? Of course he was contented. She was a willing bedmate when he occasionally wanted that; she didn't interfere with his hobbies — drinking, stag-hunting, dice-throwing. She was an immeasurable improvement over his first wife who had whined. Besides he was proud of Merewyn, and loved her, only one didn't go on saying so week after week once the marriage was over.

  "You make me happy," he said awkwardly, as she seemed to be waiting for an answer, her head a little to one side, her remarkable blue-green eyes fixed on his face. He got up and stumbled over her new dog.

  This was a puppy from Spain, wherever that was, which a peddler had brought to the Manor one day. It had long floppy ears, with silky ivory-colored hair which tangled into knots unless Merewyn spent much time smoothing it out. None of the Manor hounds were anything like it. Merewyn was immediately

  enchanted by the puppy. She said that she hadn't had a dog of her own since she was a girl, and that had been Trig who died. VVulfric neghgently bought the little beast for her, and she named it Foss. Wulfric was too incurious to ask why — and iMerewyn knew only in the back of her mind that it was because "Foss" meant waterfall in Icelandic. The dog's curly, hanging-down pelt reminded her of Langarfoss. Or did it? She wasn't sure. She did not wish to remember Iceland. But she loved the dog, and it loved her.

  On Easter Sunday Wulfric, Merewyn, and their retinue went to the wedding of Erhelred and Emma in Winchester's new iVLinster.

  The ceremony did not take long, even though both Archbishops officiated, with Elfeah, Bishop of Winchester. The Nuptial Mass was soon over, but the bridal feast was not. Merewyn, seated with Wulfric towards the bottom of the Great Hall, had few glimpses of the new Queen but what she did see confirmed an impression of misery. Merewyn knew that the girl — she was scarce eighteen — had been wed against her will. The big dark eyes were somber, she had drawn as far from Ethelred as she could, she did not speak to him. When Ethelred obviously suggested that they go to bed now, she broke into sudden vivacious chatter in French with one of her entourage. She spoke little English, and pretended not to understand the King's meaning.

  The Hall resounded with quick Norman-French voices. The English ones could scarcely be heard.

  Ethelred looked baffled, he was not sure what to do, and as always in moments of indecision, turned to Gild Aelfric for guidance. The Earl of Mercia's lean sardonic face showed amusement. He had certainly promoted this marriage himself, acted as go-between, and profited greatly from both sides. It was a simple matter to interest Ethelred in the idea, harder to convince the Duke of Normandy, through an interpreter. In essence, Aelfric's success was due to the same political argument

  which he used with both Etheked and the Duke. The alliance would make it impossible for the Vikings to base themselves in Normandy anymore. The Duke was tired of entertaining his Norse cousins. They cost too much, did too much casual damage. Richard was a peaceable man with a strong interest in the welfare of his country. Moreover, he was pleased to make so important a royal match for one of his eligible sisters. Aelfric had received substantial gifts from Ethelred and Richard.

  Now it appeared that Ethelred could not communicate sufficiently with his bride to end the interminable feast.

  So the Earl stood up and made a speech so commanding that his shrill voice silenced the crowd. It was time to put the royal couple to bed, he said, but first they would tour the Hall and greet their guests individually. He put out his hand and forcibly pulled Ethelred from the throne, then he did the same to Emma. Her dark eyes sparkled with resentment, but she dared not disobey. Ethelred pulled her arm through his, and they commenced the tour around the curtsying or bowing guests.

  Emma had been married as "Aelgifu". because the bishops and the Witan had insisted upon an Anglo-Saxon name for their Queen. She was greeted now as "our Lady Aelgifu" by the English. And each time she winced, tightening her pretty mouth. She murmured "Merci" at intervals to the sea of Saxon faces.

  She gave only one smile — to Gunhild, the hostage, King Sweyn's christianized sister, who kept an arm around her young son while she curtsied, and the Queen paused a moment when she came to MereM^n — holding Ethelred back, she turned to Count Hugo, her interpreter, who followed discreetly behind. "Qui est celle-la?" she asked, eying the gold coronet. The Count made inquiries, and reported that this was a royal lady who had served under the last two queens. "A-ha!" said Emma. "Je I'aurais cru nordique, c'est un bon visage." She gave Merewyn a thoughtful look, and passed on, tugged by the impatient Ethelred.

  Wulfric was delighted by the Queen's notice of Merewyn. "I'll wager she'll want you for Bower Lady," he said, "but I don't want ye to go m'dear, I want you to stay with me."

  "So I shall, Wulfric. I never want to go back to Ethelred's Court, and I never wish to see another of his unhappy wives. Queen Emma iinll be unhappy, I know that as surely as I know that Foss is barking." She picked up the little dog, and quietened him with a kiss on the muzzle.

  The summer slipped away; days so warm and comfortable that it was only now and then that Merewyn realized that she was bored. She took Foss on walks, she supervised her household, she rode sometimes to see Thora at Romsey, and found the girl unchanged. It always took her a while to remember her mother, then she would giggle and stroke the brooches or necklaces Merewyn now wore. Merewyn gave her an amber bracelet to play with, and Sister Herluva reported that after tearing the bracelet to bits, Thora spent many an hour fingering the smooth yellow beads and singing one of her wordless songs.

  On these visits Elfled was polite and hurried. They saw little of each other.

  In September something happened. The little Queen Emma came to visit the Manor, accompanied by several of her Normans, amongst them Count Hugo.

  Mere^vyn was proud that she could immediately summon enough serfs and housecarls to serve the Queen properly. But the dark little lady wanted nothing to eat or drink. She had come, said the Count, because she wondered if Merewyn would Hke to join her Bower. The King himself had suggested this, thinking that the Lady Merewyn was experienced at Court, and might be a good person to teach EngKsh to Emma.

  "/ 'ave done my best to teach 'er," said the Count, tAvirhng his mustaches which were shiny with unguent, "but I am leaving the Court for a time." He smiled, and nodded. "For the south of vour land."

  The Queen had received the customary "Morning Gift" after the marriage was consummated and now owned several towns and parts of shires. She had appointed Count Hugo to be Reeve or Governor of Exeter. She had appointed other Normans to important positions. Ethehred was too lazy to care at the moment. Besides he was enamoured of her and found her distaste for him exciting.

  "I thank the Lady," said Merewyn, and hesitated. The Queen's offer had its merits. Three months ago she would not have considered it, but there had been nothing much of interest since then. She had not even been able to persuade Wulfric to the inspection of his northern properties yet, and now the weather would soon make that impossible.

  Nor had the pregnancy she had hoped for happened. />
  "I hesitate to leave my husband . . ." she said weakly.

  Hugo translated this, and Emma, with sudden vivacity, spoke at some length.

  "You need not leave him all the time," transmitted the Count. "The Manor is so near Winchester that you may go back and forth as you please. And the Queen's taken a fancy to you. You look like 'er Norse grandmother."

  "What!" cried Merewyn, reddening.

  "Please not to take offense," said the Count, bowing. "Madame la reine does not mean it so. She knows very well who you are — a British princess."

  "O Jesu —" said Merewyn beneath her breath. A qualm of nausea churned her stomach. I'm dreary, I'm not content, she thought. Everything is empty. No serenity at Mass, no answer to my prayers for Orm, he may be dead. And Wulfric — out hunting as usual, if he gets home tonight — well there may or may not be that to endure.

  She picked up Foss who had stopped barking at the strangers, and was lying on her right foot. "If I come to Court, may I bring my dog?" she asked, almost childishly.

  The little Queen hardly needed translation. And she laughed,

  seeing this small victory won. "C'est un joli petit chicn," she said, '*Je veux bien le regevoir avec sa maman."

  Merewyn rode to Winchester Palace on St. Michael's Day to wait upon her third Queen of England. Wulfric had been somewhat distressed, but then soothed to hear that she would be away only part of each week. And she knew that Wulfric and the iManor would get along very much as they had before she became mistress there.

  She found many changes at the Palace — beautiful new tapestries on the walls, French armchairs in place of stools, even rugs on some of the stone floors, and the Queen had ordered an extraordinary fireplace made for the main room of her Bower. Instead of a Httle central fire from which the smoke got out as best it could through the roof, Emma had sent for a mason from France. He directed a handful of serfs in building a hooded fireplace on a wall, and the smoke went up an outside chimney. Very odd, the English thought it. And Merewyn thought it very comfortable.

  Ethelred's children by his first wife were all housed in a separate building on the Palace grounds. They had their own retinue and nobody bothered with them mugh, especially Ethelred.

  Merewyn gave daily lessons in Enghsh to the Queen and began to admire the girl, who was constantly unhappy but also had spirit and intelligence. Emma-Aelgifu, she was called the latter by the English but made it clear that she detested the peculiar name, showed in many ways her dislike of the husband they had foisted on her. Yet she was pregnant, as was her duty, and could therefore keep Ethelred out of her bed by representations as to unwholesomeness and danger presented through Count Hugo from a French midwife who had been sent for. There was a great deal of sailing to and from Normandy even in autumn; and Emma, being much the stronger character of the couple, continually got her own way with Ethelred. She was

  no Alfrida, she used no lures of the body, though it was a charming one, but she made the best of a situation she hated by favoring her countrymen.

  Ethelred, denied his wife's bed at present, assuaged himself with some of the thanes' ladies, and possibly a handsome young stableboy, rumor said. Emma shrugged, and said, "Alors—" Her Norman waiting ladies shrugged too. Not one of them liked England. But they accepted Merewyn after a while, and the English lessons went fast since they were all simple conversation.

  On Thursday, November 12 th, it was drizzUng rain and sleet. Merewyn had expected to ride home that day, but the weather made it most unwise, especially as Merewyn had a cold. She started for the Queen's Bower to ask permission to stay the night, and was startled to see through the winding stair windows that there were many horsemen in the courtyard below. Ethel-red's private courtyard. A hunt? she thought, yet not at twilight in this weather. And there were no horns. The men were all full-armored with swords, shields, and spears. Ethelred was nowhere to be seen. The Earl of Mercia was circling amongst the warriors, and seemed to be telling them something. Merewyn leaned against the window, and even through the distorting wavy glass she got an impression of sinister mystery. What were all those men doing down there in the sleet.^

  She chmbed to the Bower, and found the Queen mournfully strumming a lute while her ladies were embroidering by the light of several tapers. Emma smiled when she saw Merewyn and Foss. She held out her hand to fondle the dog, and said, "Alors . . . you vill stay 'ere tonight?"

  The little Queen had learned far more English than she had let Ethelred know.

  "I'll stay here if I may, Lady —" said Merewyn, "but there's something strange going on in the private courtyard. So many men — 'hommes.' " She indicated a multitude by spreading her arms, and showed shield and swords by gestures.

  Emma sucked in her breath. She stared at Merewyn, then went out to descend the stairway to the same window Merewyn had quitted.

  When she came back her face was white. "I vas varned," she said. "It vill 'appen, le roi est fou, pire que 9a."

  Her Norman ladies raised their heads and gaped at the Queen.

  "But what IS it?" asked Merewyn fearingly, for she saw that Emma was extremely upset, that she was shivering.

  "Massacre," said the Queen, "du Danois. II est fou. II est lache. O mon Dieu!"

  By the time Merewyn was able to understand what the Queen guessed was about to happen, they saw through a Bower window a file of armed men, some carrying torches, and all heading into Winchester town.

  In a while Merewyn understood that Emma had a few days ago passed a small chamber near the Great Hall and had heard the King's voice shouting in a hysterical way, "We'll kill all the Danes. Get rid of them forever!" and another voice murmuring, agreeing. Emma had thought this was simply Ethelred in one of his crazy drunken rages.

  Then one of her ladies — Marie de Caen, who was in love with the King's dish thane, had made a frightened report to the Queen two nights ago. Something dreadful was brewing; the dish thane had overheard the King and Gild Aelfric muttering about Danish treachery, and as Emma herself knew, Ethelred had taken to eating or drinking nothing unless the dish thane had swallowed some of it several minutes before he did, and he had closed himself in his private apartments, and ordered armed housecarls to sleep near him.

  "But —" said Merewyn, puzzled, to Emma, "King Sweyn was paid off. He went away —" her voice wavered as she thought of Orm. "He left his sister, his brother-in-law and his nephew as hostages. There's nothing for the King to fear now."

  Emma understood only a part of this, but she rushed to the Bower window which overlooked the town, "Regardez—"

  she said, and her ladies crowded in beside her. The taller Mere-wyn looked over their heads.

  They saw the torchht procession head for the pleasant manor house which had been allotted to the royal hostages — Gunhild, her husband, PaUg, and their son. Presently they saw the house burning.

  Queen Emma opened the window, and through the drizzle they heard distant screams.

  It was twilight of the following day, St. Brice's Day, before anybody but a Bower servant came near the frightened ladies. He brought a basket of bread and a keg of ale, and said it was "Horrible, horrible." Every Dane in the kingdom had been slaughtered, or was being so right now. That his own mother'd been from the Danelaw, thank the Blessed Lord she was dead, and he scuttled away.

  "Bar the door, madame," said the Queen to Merewyn. "The King's premiere reine etait Danoise ... he may now vish to massacre also the Normans."

  Merewyn barred the door. "I think not," she said dully. "He will get over the madness, and repent. All his life he's had fears and rages, but never like this . . ."

  "Dieu me console," whispered the little Queen, and fell to praying on her carved ivory prie-dieu. Her ladies clustered around her, also devoutly praying. Merewyn could not pray. She stood by the Bower window and looked down on Winchester where now many fires were burning, and in the smoke which came down the chimney and seemed to seep through crannies, there was the smell of roasting flesh.

 
At twilight, there was a knock on the door, and Merewyn heard Wulfric's voice calling to her, and crying, "Open up, ladies. 'Tissafe!"

  Merewyn drew the bolt cautiously and peered through the door. Wulfric was alone. She let him in. "I've come to fetch ye," he said as he bent his knee towards the Queen. " 'Tis a

  dreadful thing's been happening." His ruddy face was drawn, liis little eyes were distressed, as she had never imagined they could be.

  "By the grace o' God I've been four days hunting in New Forest, they couldn't find me, or I'd've had to go out wi' the other King's thanes —" He warmed his hands at the fireplace. "I've just seen the King." Wulfric spoke a trifle incoherently. "He's sobbing in the Council Chamber. He is blaming it all on the Earl of Mercia."

  " 'Sobbing,' " the Queen interrupted sharply. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?"

  Merewyn made a hopeless but exphcit gesture with sounds. "II pleure . . ." said the Queen. "Ha! But vat 'as 'appened, vraiment, messire," she said to Wulfric. "Exphquez-moi!"

  Wulfric told them what he had learned. Ethelred had called an emergency meeting of the Witan; only of those nearby and whom the Earl of Mercia controlled. Ethelred had said that he was in imminent danger of assassination by the Danes in his kingdom, and that when he died the Witan would be murdered too. Therefore he was going to send secret messages to all trustworthy English earls and thanes. They were commanded to exterminate every Dane they could get at on St. Brice's Eve. And this was to be a lesson to the traitors.

  " 'Ow many 'ave died?" asked Emma quietly.

  "I don't know, Lady. Hundreds, I suppose. And I think it a great pity, aye — I think it dangerously dishonorable —" He paused; his nose grew redder at the thought of criticizing the King to whom he had sworn fealty. He went on, '''Dishonorable, to have slaughtered the royal Danish hostages."

  "So they are dead," whispered Merewyn. "We saw their house burning. Earl Pallig ... the boy . . . and Gunhild of Denmark ..."