Avalon

by Anya Seton

  "They are dead," said Wulfric, crossing himself. "I saw the bodies as I rode into town. Cut-off heads next to bits of the bodies. From the stink I judge they were burning the bodies."

  He turned to the Queen, and began, "Lady, if you can spare Merewyn now, I'd like to take her home . . ." He stopped in consternation, as he saw that the Queen was vomiting into a chamber pot. Yet she finished very soon, and wiping her mouth on a linen cloth, said, "Take Madame Merewyn — Messire, she 'as taught me much English, I shall know 'ow to deal vit a king who ees 'sobbing' and 'as made the vorst crime I ever 'eard of — nor le bon Dieu non plus!"

  Merewyn looked back at the valiant little Queen. "Ethelred is not all bad," she said with difficulty. "He has too many fears and too much power. His mother gave him both — God forgive her. You are not only strong, Lady Emma, but I know that you are good. You can rule your husband, if you can force yourself not to draw away from him, nor leave him to villains —" she chose the word carefully, knowing that Emma would understand it, "likeCildAelfricor—"

  "Hush, Merewyn!" said Wulfric, glancing back towards the stairs. "Have done!"

  Queen Emma stood very still. She had understood most of Merewyn's speech. "You are wise, madame," she said. "You speak for the man you've known since child'ood, the man who 'as done 'orrible thing — non — pas lui, 'e did not, 'e vas 'idden in a chamber whilst others did it."

  "God will punish him," said Merewyn.

  The Queen inclined her pretty and determined dark head. "Le bon Dieu vill punish Englandy'' she said. "Of that I am sure."

  chapteR fifteen

  Terrified excitement over the St. Brice's Day Massacre died down by Yuletide. To be sure, a few hundred Danes in the southern shires had been killed. This was justified in English thinking by the many Viking raids from Norse countries which England had endured. Even the slaughter of the Danish royal hostages was generally condoned. After all, King Sweyn had been paid 24,000 pounds to depart with his fleet, and if he were foohsh enough to leave some of his family behind, that was his lookout.

  Nobody had ever found the Danes who infiltrated south from the Danelaw, or Northumbria, particularly obnoxious. Many of them had intermarried with the English of Mercia, Wessex, or Kent. Nonetheless, one did not question a king's commands, and if, as was understood, he had been physically threatened, well, there wasn't much to do but get rid of the foreigners.

  By Yule, such reasoning was also Wulfric's. Merewyn said nothing. Even when her husband remarked that they were lucky to live under such a vigorous king, she said nothing. But she thought about little Emma with sympathy, and listened eagerly to the gossip the servants brought back from Winchester.

  She was not summoned to Winchester Court again. The King and Queen seemed to be constantly on the move around England. Merewyn was not sure if Emma had been offended by the speech about Ethelred she had felt bound to make. But it looked as though the Queen were pumping some energy into Ethelred.

  Merewyn did not succeed as well with Wulfric.

  Life at the Manor was comfortable, but dull and Merewyn found herself drifting into a flirtation with one of the housecarls. An enterprise so aimless and humiliating that Merewyn soon cut it off.

  In March there came news that the Queen had given birth to a lusty boy, named Edward, and produced him in Oxfordshire. Wulfric and Merewyn were not invited to the christening, which took place at Ely. Merewyn was disappointed. Wulfric was glad; he was never inclined to go anywhere, unless it was for hunting, and even this no longer interested him as much. He had hurt his back by a fall in December, and whiled away the long winter by dice-throwing and listening over and over to his bard — Merewyn got very tired of the "Lay of Beowulf" — or by playing at darts with his retainers. Merewyn tried to busy herself with the peasants of their village, but there was little hardship amongst them, nor did they seem particularly grateful to receive the Lady of the Manor.

  On Ashley Manor the serfs and a few free cotters lived their own Hves, though they went to the village church on Sundays and enjoyed the May Day and Yuletide feasts Wulfric provided. They paid to Wulfric their quarterly fees — Wulfric's bailiff saw to that — paid over certain bushels of corn, or geese or a lamb, or plowing days' work, or the produce of a certain field, or even pennies. They paid as had their forefathers, because that was the way things were done. They had great attachment to the land they did not own, but Merewyn at last understood that they felt little interest in their feudal lord, or his lady. The gulf was too wide. She finally took to sending a house servant with the gifts she continued to make at times. And her spirits gradu-

  ally grew very low. There seemed nothing to get out of bed for in the mornings. She would lie there for hours, staring at a strange mark in the wood of one of the rafters. Sometimes it looked like a grinning face, and sometimes it looked like a cross.

  She lost her appetite, and began to get thin. She scarcely noticed this, but Wulfric did. He worried about her when he was not worrying about the health of his best gelding.

  She enjoyed in a remote way the coming of spring again. The green shoots pushing through the brown earth, the catkins hanging from the alders and hazels, the anemones and primroses starring under the trees in the copse by the house. Then the drift of bluebells.

  She saw all these things through a glaze. They could not quite reach her. Even Foss seemed remote. She cuddled him, and let him lick her hand, but she did not tend his coat as carefully as she had. Everything was unimportant. Once on an evening of particular depression she spoke to their chaplain. Examine her conscience as she did, there never seemed to be much to confess. She had made the most of her flirtation with the housecarl, but that was finished, and she had done penance.

  "Father," she said, "I don't know what's the matter with me. Nothing seems worthwhile."

  The priest was a local man who had been ordained at Winchester. He enjoyed his sinecure at the Manor, thought of little but the good food the Thane provided, and did the minimum of his duties as a shepherd of souls. "Perhaps, you should pray to the Blessed Virgin Mary," he said.

  "I have," she answered forlornly.

  "There couldn't be any sin on your conscience," said the priest, looking eagerly out the chapel window towards the Manor where the dinner bell would presently ring. "You've made full confessions, I'm sure."

  Merewyn was silent. Supposing she said that she had actually committted adultery with the housecarl. Would that disturb this smug Httle priest? But she had not. It would be a lie. A lie . . .

  She got up. "I hope you enjoy your dinner, Father — I believe I ordered roast kid and saffron pastries."

  At the end of April there were disquieting rumors. It was said that King Sweyn had returned, had landed in Devonshire with an enormous fleet, and was devastating the countryside. Wulfric refused to beheve it — the peasants and churls were always spreading rumors which flew upward to his servants and then to housecarls.

  "I think it very likely, Wulfric," said Merewyn in a weary voice. "Don't you think Sweyn might want to avenge his sister?"

  "His sister . .. ?" repeated Wulfric, frowning. It took him a moment to understand. "Oh, you mean St. Brice's Day? But that Danish King got twenty-four thousand pounds. He wouldn't bother to come back here just to avenge a sister." Wulfric was fingering a new Norman spear he had bought. It seemed more deftly made than the English ones. Better balance, and the hasp tightened in a different way. Wulfric's back had improved and he was looking forward to hunting again.

  "I think he might," Merewyn said.

  Wulfric did not listen; he was thinking about his new hobby — a falcon mews. He had bought several peregrines, and ordered one of the great white gyrfalcons from the North. From Iceland maybe, Merewyn thought, and felt the familiar inner shrinking.

  Wulfric gave her an absentminded pat on the shoulder, and went out to inspect his mews and consult with the new falconer.

  At dusk there was a banging on the great portal. Merewyn was in the Hall doing needlework. Her h
ead ached and her eyes strained to find the right colors for the hunting scene Wulfric had requested. It was to be of St. Hubert, patron of the hunt, with a crucifix shining between the stag's antlers. It would grace the chapel if she could ever finish it.

  A housecarl came in, looking flustered. "There's a man at the portal, m'lady," he said. "Porter told me. Man wants to see you. But he looks like one o' they Danes to me. Has a helmet on."

  Merewyn became very still. "Did the man say his name?"

  "Orm, m'lady — I think it was."

  "Let him in," said Merewyn. While she waited, the Hall spun around her. She tried to stand up, then sat down again.

  Orm came striding in. He was bigger and blonder than ever. He wore chain mail and a helmet. There was a great double-edged sword hanging from his hips. She saw at once that he had a scarcely healed scar on his chin.

  "Elsknan min —" she cried, rushing towards him, and falling on his chest, began to weep.

  "So . . . Mother, so . . . Mother," said Orm, hugging her and speaking as though to soothe a restive horse. "I wasn't so sure you'd be glad to see me."

  "Not sure?" she said between sobs. "When these years since you left, I've been wondering, waiting, praying. I thought you might be dead."

  "I nearly was once or twice," said Orm with a certain rehsh. "Good fighting. But I'm here now with Sweyn. We've overrun the western shires. Sweyn's camp is near here in Wiltshire. I received permission to visit my mother for the evening." He examined her. "You've grown a bit thinner. Hasn't that Httle Thane you married been taking good care of you?"

  "Oh yes," she said distractedly. "Orm — are you safe here? I don't mean Wulfric, he'd never assault a guest, but the house-carls might rise, they're English. They've not forgotten St. Brice's Day."

  "Nor have we," said Orm, his young mouth hardening. "That's why we're here. You're supposed to be Christians, oozing justice, honor, and mercy for all. Instead, the murder of harmless Anglo-Danes, and especially the murder of royal hostages — the worst deed ever done by the feckless English."

  "Yes, I know," she said, "and almost as bad a deed was done at Corfe, when Edward was murdered to get Ethelred on the throne."

  "Perhaps so," said Orm, who was not interested in English

  events before his birth. "Mother, in this great Manor you must have food and drink. I need some. And don't worry about my safety. I assure you I've learned to defend myself."

  "Please," she whispered, "take off your helmet in the Guardroom, hide the chain mail, and leave your sword behind — you can put it in my Bower ..."

  "My dear mother . . ." said Orm. He was twenty-two now, and much more mature in every way than when she had seen him last. He was even able to understand Merewyn a little. He reached down and kissed her on the cheek. "So you are still playing the old game," he said. "Poor Mother," he added, "I don't want you to be anxious. I'll leave my helmet in the Guardroom, I'll cover my chain mail with my sark, but I'll keep my sword with me. I call it Ormstunga, and I got it off a great big German when we were raiding up the Elbe."

  "You killed him," she stated.

  "To be sure, it was a battle." Orm looked surprised. "And what better name for this wonderful sword than 'Serpent's tongue' since you named me Orm."

  "I never thought about it," she said faintly, "that Orm means serpent in Norse. It was Sigurd's grandfather's name, and he wanted it."

  All those years when she had not really thought at all. Golden years of mutual pleasure with Sigurd. The little homestead at Langarfoss, presided over by the Snaefell glacier, by the snow-peaked gabled mountains, by the distant and fey cone of Baula, by the singing swans which flew overhead, by the arctic fireweed she gathered in summertime, while baby Orm trotted beside her. I was happy then and did not know it.

  "Orm —" she said with difficulty, "I have so prayed that you were not killing people."

  "And what good are Christian prayers?" said Orm. "Anyway Christians constantly kill each other. Look at King Sweyn's sister, Gunhild, she was Christian. And you people do not even honor your sacred oaths."

  "That was Ethelred's doing — the massacre, and he is King."

  Orm said, "Tcha!" exactly Hke Ketil, and departed for the Guardroom.

  When Wulfric came back from the mews, Merewyn hastily explained the reappearance of Orm. She said that Orm had a liking for the sea, and had been on several long voyages. She did not explain with whom Orm had gone. The Thane was incurious as ever. He was pleased to welcome Orm, and then talked interminably about his falcons; the mews should be enlarged, he would need another falconer; the perches were not of the proper height, and the leg tethers would have to be remade.

  Merewyn was used to this, but Orm was beginning to yawn into his flagon. The bard came in, and Orm revived as the man began to chant the "Lay of Beowulf." Again, Merewyn thought, but saw that this story of blood and battle and underwater monsters held Orm's attention. She also felt an intuition that there was something he wanted to tell her, something private which had not yet appeared, and was not entirely to do with a filial visit.

  It didn't take very long to be quit of Wulfric. Staggering slightly, for he had drunk an extra flagon of mead in honor of the guest, he said that he was for bed. "Have a good chat, you two," he said amiably as a housecarl steadied him, and to Orm, "Your mother's been pining to see ye, many's the long day."

  Merewyn told one of the housecarls to build up the fire, then dismissed all the servitors. She and Orm sat down in armchairs near the warmth.

  "You've something to tell me," she said, restraining herself from leaning over to kiss him. "Would it be that Sweyn is going to attack in Hampshire? Have you brought a warning?"

  "That may be," said Orm after a moment. "Sweyn's host is mighty. They've just taken Exeter."

  "Exeter, which was governed by the Queen's Norman Count, Hugo?"

  Orm nodded. "He delivered the town up to us. We hardly had to draw a sword."

  "Did they go to Tavistock Abbey again?" she asked very low.

  "Why, no," said Orm astonished. "The army is moving east for London and you won't be molested here. I've seen to that. Stay tranquil. Mother, on your own very fine Manor. And I'm sure that Wulfric'll not bestir himself."

  "He will if the King calls on him!" She had a flash of anger. "So you and your Danes want to destroy England!"

  "We are all Norsemen," said Orm. "So are the Normans for that matter, and soon you'll see that tliey'll join with the rest of us. As Count Hugo has done at Exeter. I told you before that England was a rotting plum. Squeeze it here, it squirts there. Soon it will collapse into mushiness."

  Merewyn was silent; she knew that Orm was coming to the real object of his visit.

  "Mother," he said suddenly, leaning forward. "You remember Leif Erikson? We now call him Leif the Lucky."

  "Of course I remember," she answered tartly, "though I prefer not to think about that time on Greenland."

  "Well —" said Orm, brushing this silly remark aside, "there's a Greenlander on my ship — I told you I was steersman?"

  "You told me."

  "His name in Einar, and he was one of Leif Erikson's crew when they set out from Brattalid to find Vinland."

  "What's that?'' she said since he paused, looked at her with excited eyes, and seemed to be wanting her to say something.

  "That place to the west. It's a whole new country, Mother! A very big one. And a rich one. They went south and south for days along a coast lined with beautiful trees. They wintered in a freshwater lake, the berries grew thick around it, nothing froze much all winter, not the way things freeze in Greenland, and besides all that free timber, they found wild grapes. That's why Leif called the place Vinland."

  *'So . . ." said Merewyn after a moment. "That must be the place Jorund and — and Rumon got to when Ari Marson's ship was blown there."

  "Oh yes, Mother. They found that place too! Einar says they sailed into a river called 'Merrimac' by the skraelings of which there were many in little pointed boats made
of birch bark. That Ari Marson himself came down the bank to greet them. He was cordial enough and gave them supplies, but did not want them to stay there. He seemed to be a sort of chief of this place, both skraelings and a lot of wizened old 'Papas' who hid in some rocky caves. Einar says these Tapas' were like the kind who used to hve on Iceland ages ago."

  "And what does all this lead to?" asked Merewyn.

  "That I wish to go there," said Orm simply.

  "Why?" she asked. "I thought you were settled with King Sweyn's avenging horde."

  "I've talked to him," said Orm. "I got enough plunder myself to buy the boat I'm steering. Einar too has some to buy his way out of Sweyn's army. And also—"he paused, she saw the youthful blushing of his neck, "there is a girl ... in Dublin, where we provisioned our fleet. She's part Norse, part Celtic Hke you. She even has a kind of red hair like you."

  "Oh, has she indeed," said Merewyn in a neutral voice. "And she's willing to voyage towards this Vinland with you?"

  "She says so."

  "Is she Christian?"

  "She's been baptized," said Orm defiantly. "But what does all this water-sprinkling matter! We Norse do it too."

  "I'm not sure how much it matters, if the Spirit isn't there," said Merewyn slowly. She sighed. "So you wish to be a colonist in the new world. I wish you luck, and am glad that you will be fighting nobody except maybe skraelings. I wish I could meet your betrothed," she added wistfully.

  "But she's in Dublin! Einar has a girl there also. We'll hire a crew in Exeter, that's where my ship is, and pick up the two

  girls in Ireland, then around to Greenland, join one of the expeditions. Einar says that they were planning at least a yearly boat of colonists from Brattalid."

  "So far . . . so far away . . ." she said, putting her hand over her eyes. "Orm, aren't you sorry that you went a-viking?"