by Joan Wolf
Crida was an excellent horseman; the best in Winchester, Ceawlin thought proudly. His small size made it easy for him to balance in the saddle, and his legs were extremely strong. He would never have the height that Cerdic had and that Ceowulf was going to have, and suddenly Ceawlin wondered if that bothered him. It was often difficult to know what Crida was thinking or feeling. Cerdic's was a far more open nature than was his younger brother's.
"You are the best horseman in Winchester," Ceawlin said now to his son. "I have always loved to watch you ride."
Crida looked over at Ceawlin, his eyes widening with surprise. "You are the best horseman in Winchester, Father. Everyone knows that."
Ceawlin shook his head. "I am too tall. You are better."
Crida's fair skin, so like Ceawlin's own when he was a boy, flushed with betraying color. "Well, I suppose being small has some uses."
"You have my coloring but you are built like your mother," Ceawlin said.
"I know." The answer was flat. "I used to think that I would grow, would be as tall as Cerdic, but I have long since resigned myself to the fact that I will not."
"You will grow," Ceawlin replied. "Your mother's brother is not a small man. But you are never going to be as tall as Cerdic." He looked seriously at his son. "What does that matter, Crida? You have gifts of more importance than size."
Crida's eyes were Ceawlin's also, although more green than blue. They gave nothing away as he answered, "What do I have, Father?"
"You have intelligence," Ceawlin said. "Extraordinary intelligence." He grinned. "Your mother would say you got that from her also."
Crida's usually reserved face lit with a reciprocal smile.
"You will be of great value to your brother when he is king," Ceawlin told his son. "I am very proud of you, Crida." He watched Crida try to hide his pleasure and thought that it had been a good idea to spend some time alone with the boy, that he should do it again. Then the hounds gave voice and once again father and son were off in pursuit.
* * * *
Niniane stood on the steps of the princes' hall and watched her husband and her son coming back from the stables. They were walking very close together. In his left hand Ceawlin was carrying a bow. His right arm was laid across Crida's shoulders. The top of Crida's head just cleared his father's shoulder. Niniane looked at the two blond heads, shining like silver in the spring sun, and blinked back a tear.
Crida saw her first. "We got a boar, Mother!" he called.
"Very good." She smiled at the two of them. "I'll wager you also got an appetite."
"One of the reasons I have held so steadfastly to your mother for all these years, Crida," Ceawlin said seriously, "is that she understands how important food is to a man."
Crida laughed. "You hold to Mother because she is the finest lady in all the world," he said.
Ceawlin's eyes went to his wife. "That is true also," he agreed, his eyes brimming with amusement.
"You are a credit to me, Crida," said Niniane. Then she added to her husband, "Gereint rode in while you were gone, Ceawlin. Naille is dying."
All the amusement left Ceawlin's face. "Where is he?" he asked.
"In the king's hall. He has come to ask you to go north with him. Naille wants to see you."
Ceawlin nodded, patted Crida on the shoulder, and went off to talk with Gereint.
"How was the hunt?" Niniane asked Crida. "Come inside and tell me all about it." He was beginning his story before ever they entered the princes'-hall door.
"I will go, of course," Ceawlin said to Niniane. They were alone in their sleeping room preparing for bed. "I owe a great deal to Naille."
"Yes." Niniane sighed. "He is a good man. We shall miss him." She got into the bed and pulled the blankets up around her.
Silence fell as Ceawlin continued to undress. Niniane watched him in the flickering candlelight. "I am glad you took Crida out hunting today," she said then. "He was so full of excitement! He even deigned to tell the story of the boar hunt to Ceowulf."
"I think it bothers him, the fact that he is so small."
Niniane cast a rueful look upon her husband's splendid body, now fully undressed. "I feel so guilty," she said. "It is my fault that Crida is small."
Ceawlin laughed and got into the bed. "It is also your 'fault' that he was born." Then, when she wrinkled her small tilted nose, "He will come to terms with it, Nan. Upon first glance it is Cerdic who is the more impressive, but it is Crida who has the brain."
"Cerdic has a brain too!" said Niniane in instant defense of her firstborn.
He snorted. "I did not mean to imply that he did not. Cerdic has a gift for understanding people and will do very well as king. But Crida is quicker. That is all I meant."
"Well, that is true," said Niniane, placated. "He has to hear Alric recite but once and he knows it. It is sometimes difficult for Cerdic, the fact that Crida is so much quicker. But Crida makes allowances for Cerdic. It is Ceowulf who comes in for the brunt of his scorn."
"Perhaps I ought to take Ceowulf hunting too," said Ceawlin humorously.
"I think that is a good idea," replied his wife. "The two eldest boys and the two youngest boys have each other. It is Ceowulf who is left out. I often think it is a great pity that I miscarried of the child I was bearing after Ceowulf. Then would he have had a friend."
"All these sons!" said Ceawlin. "When am I to have a daughter?"
Niniane smiled at him. Since the birth of Ceowulf he had asked for nothing but a daughter. Niniane, who was well content with her sons, thought it endearing that Ceawlin was so anxious to have a girl. "I think I will come with you to see Naille," she murmured.
"No children," he said warningly. "I will be happy to have you, but Eirik must stay in Winchester."
"He is not a baby anymore and will do very well with his nurses," Niniane replied. She raised herself a little and bent over him to kiss him softly on the lips. "We can stay at Bryn Atha," she said. "Like the old days. Perhaps we will even make a daughter for you."
"Hmmm." Her loose hair hung down, encasing both of them in a silken tent. "That would be nice," he said, drew her down to him, and kissed her again.
* * * *
Niniane and Ceawlin left Winchester two days after. With them went four of the hall thanes as well as Gereint and his escort of three Britons. Had the men been alone, they would have ridden straight through to Silchester, a long ride for one day but one that Ceawlin had often made. Niniane was with them, however, and so they made camp beside the road when they were still some ten miles from the city, cooked supper, and went to bed early. The ground was hard but Niniane was warm within the shelter of Ceawlin's arms, and she slept soundly, awaking with the birds at dawn.
They did not stop at Silchester but turned west toward Bryn Atha. Niniane had not been to the villa in several years and the sight of it in the bright April sun brought a smile to her face. "It is always the same," she said to Ceawlin. "Do you remember when once you said to me that when Winchester was but ashes, these stones would still be standing?"
He grunted, his mind clearly on other things.
Niniane's mind was on the past. For some reason, she found the first time she and Ceawlin had come to Bryn Atha vividly present in her mind. She remembered how surprised she had been to find the villa uninhabited, Coinmail and all the servants and the livestock gone. She remembered their visit to Geara to learn the news, and how they had gobbled Geara's bread and cheese. She remembered their first visit to Naille, how he had recognized Ceawlin from Beranbyrg.
How many years ago? she thought. Well, Cerdic was fourteen, so it must be fifteen years ago. How young we were, she thought. "Remember when you fixed up the slave quarters for the thanes?" she asked as they dismounted in the courtyard.
He grunted again and she flashed him an annoyed look. He did not even notice. Obviously he was not interested in sharing nostalgic reminiscences of their early married days at Bryn Atha. Niniane went into the house before him, her back very straig
ht.
There was a steward at Bryn Atha these days, and servants to see to the upkeep of the villa. Ceawlin intended the property to go to one of his sons and wanted to keep it well-maintained. The steward, a Briton named Budd, had been warned of their probable coming by Gereint and so was prepared with food and fresh linen. Gereint continued on home with the message that Ceawlin and Niniane would come to see Naille on the morrow.
There was chicken fried in oil for dinner and the food was what finally put Ceawlin in a nostalgic mood. The four thanes eating with them in the dining room listened eagerly as the king and queen told stories of the old days in Bryn Atha, when Ceawlin was waiting to claim his father's kingship. They seemed to find the picture of their awesome king and his powerful eorls laboring like ceorls in the fields particularly riveting.
"It sounds like fun," said Sigbert, the leader of the thanes. He sounded distinctly wistful.
Ceawlin's blue-green eyes narrowed and he looked at the four young faces across the table. For the first time he realized that he had chosen the four youngest of all the hall thanes to come with him on this errand. The boys looking back at him were scarcely older than he himself had been when he and Niniane had first come to Bryn Atha. Niniane's sentimentality must be infectious, he thought with wry humor.
"Life is not so exciting these days, is it?" he said sympathetically, and the four thanes earnestly assured him that that was not so at all.
But it was so, Ceawlin thought, at least for these young ones. They had not been old enough to go with the war band to Gild Ford, and in the two years since they had slept in his hall, little of excitement had happened in Wessex.
I must think up something for the young ones to do, he thought. All the thanes, for that matter. They are men trained for war and they will rust away unless I use them.
Niniane was telling another story and the thanes were listening with rapt attention. "Did Bertred do so?" Sigbert inquired with awe. It was obvious to Ceawlin's amused eye that it was difficult for these boys to recognize in Niniane's tale the great and powerful eorl they themselves were familiar with.
Niniane was laughing at the boys as well, her nose crinkling, her large eyes dancing. "Bertred was once no older than you," she said. "Just think, even I was but seventeen."
"You have not aged at all, my lady," said one of the other boys respectfully.
Niniane threw him a disbelieving look from under her partially lowered lashes. But it was true, Ceawlin thought, that his wife did not look her age. It was her skin, he decided after thinking for a minute. It still retained the same baby-fine texture it had had when first he knew her. And her nose was still lightly dusted with golden freckles. She did not look seventeen, but she did not look like the mother of five children, either. Well, he was not doing so badly himself, he thought complacently. He could still outwrestle any man in Winchester.
Dinner was finished and Ceawlin took the four boys off to the thanes' quarters. Suddenly he too was curious to see his handiwork again. He stayed to share a cup of beer with the boys, and when he returned to the house one of the serving girls told him that Niniane had gone to bed. Good, he thought, and walked down the hall with an eager stride. He had been in the saddle for the better part of two days, but he still had energy enough for other things. He remembered her words to him in Winchester and his pace quickened. He and Niniane had made their first two sons in this bed, he thought as he pushed open the door and went into their room.
She was sound asleep. Ceawlin held his candle to his wife's quiet face. She never moved. Evidently two days in the saddle had taken a greater toll on her than on him.
Ceawlin cursed. He was not ready to sleep, not after the thoughts he had just been thinking. He stamped around the room, making noise and hoping to wake her. She murmured something indistinguishable and curled into a little ball. Her eyes remained closed.
Hel, thought Ceawlin. She was the one who had started all this business about the good old days at Bryn Atha. She was the one who had mentioned a daughter. Then what had she done? Gone to sleep and left him unsatisfied. Hel. He took off his shoe and threw it against the wall. Niniane's eyes opened.
"Ceawlin?" Her voice was fogged with sleep.
"Yes. Who did you think it was?" He was very annoyed with her.
"I don't know." Her eyes were closing again.
"No, you don't." He was bending over her now. "Nan. You can't go to sleep now. Wake up."
Dimly she heard the urgent note in his voice. "I'm so tired, Ceawlin," she mumbled. "I think I had too much wine at supper."
"Nan." He was beside her in the bed, his hands rough on her shoulders. He shook her and her eyes opened. He said her name again. She put her arms around his neck, and when he began to pull her sleeping gown up, she yawned and obediently shifted a little to help him.
* * * *
It was sad, seeing Naille so weak and so ill. Alanna too looked old and worn. The two of them had worked hard all their lives, Niniane thought. Her own life in Winchester was so much easier than Alanna's had ever been as a farmer's wife.
How lucky I have been, she thought. How good God has been to me. She had borne five children to the man she loved, and all those children still lived. Lived and thrived. She was so lucky. Just thinking about it frightened her a little. As though the thought itself could put that luck into jeopardy.
The April day was warm as June and the world smelled of spring. Niniane's sorrow lifted as she and Ceawlin rode back to Bryn Atha. It was difficult to stay sad on such a day as this.
"Do you think I ought to make Gereint an eorl?" Ceawlin asked her. "He would accept the title, I think, once Naille is gone. But would it ruin his standing with the Atrebates?"
The track was wide enough for their horses to go side by side, and they rode in silence while she thought about his question. "No, I don't think it would," she answered at last. "The men of Naille's generation won't like it, but the younger ones, the ones that fought with you and know you, will be pleased."
He nodded. "That was my thought also."
"Coinmail will despise him for it, of course."
Ceawlin shrugged. "What does Coinmail matter? He has not had aught to do with the Atrebates since he went to Glevum."
"He is one of the chiefs of the Dobunni now."
"The Dobunni are no care of mine."
"No, I suppose they are not."
"I don't understand this concern you have with Coinmail, Niniane," Ceawlin said impatiently. "From what you have told me, he bullied you the whole of your childhood. Why should you care what he may think?"
"It is not so much what he may think as what he may do that worries me, Ceawlin."
"What can he do? He has sworn never to fight me."
Niniane halted her gelding, and Ceawlin's stallion stopped as well. "Ceawlin, I should not count on that old promise."
"He gave his word," Ceawlin said.
"I do not think Coinmail would count as binding a word given to a pagan."
He shook his head. "You see trolls behind every tree, Nan." He started his horse forward again. "Coinmail is in no position to do me harm. Nor is he in any position to do Gereint harm. I think I shall make Gereint an eorl."
"Will you give him a manor?" she asked after a moment.
"He has his own land already. It is more the idea that I will have recognized a Briton as equal in power to my other most trusted men. Anyone who knows me knows that I have always held Gereint as highly in my heart as Penda or Bertred. But now it will be clear to all."
Niniane smiled at him. "You are a man of your word, Ceawlin. You promised Naille all those years ago that you would be a king for the Atrebates as well as the Saxons, and you have made your word good."
He did not answer, but she could see that her words had pleased him.
They were skirting the fields of Bryn Atha, going through a small copse of wood that had been left when the land was cleared, when Ceawlin said, "I'm thirsty. Let's stop to get a drink from the stream."
She followed him toward a small rushing brook and they got off their horses and tied them to a tree. Ceawlin lay on his stomach and leaned forward to drink from the stream. Niniane watched him, a smile in her eyes. "Your hair is getting wet," she said.
He straightened up. The edges of his hair, where it had fallen into the water, dripped onto his shoulders. "Aren't you thirsty?" he asked.
"I am not going to push my face into that stream. I'll wait until we get back to Bryn Atha, thank you."
He made a cup of his hands, scooped up some of the crystal-clear water, and offered it to her. She bent her head and drank from his hands. "More?" he asked softly when she had finished.
"Yes," she said, and drank again. When she had finished, she looked up into his eyes and knew why he had really stopped in the wood. "Someone may come along, Ceawlin," she said.
"They won't." He caressed her cheekbones with gentle fingers and, bending his head began to kiss her. She closed her eyes and felt excitement ignite deep in her belly. The air was so warm, so springlike. His wet hair tickled her cheek. She put her arms around his waist and rubbed her body against his.
"Over there," he said. "The ground is clear." He lifted her by her elbows and walked to the place he had indicated. Then they both crumpled to the ground.
"Nan," he muttered, kissing her again, deeply, and sliding a hand up under the skirt of her gown. Niniane whimpered. The stallion, restless at being tied, began to paw the ground. Ceawlin pulled their clothes out of his way with a ruthless hand, then he was where she wanted him, deep, hard, stabbing again and again until her whole body convulsed with sensation, waves of intense pleasure radiating all the way up her back and down her legs. They collapsed around each other, Ceawlin panting hard and drenched with sweat.
"I love you," he murmured against her ear after he had begun to get his breath back.
She let out a long, deeply satisfied sigh and he raised his head so he could see her face. He grinned. She smiled back and drew his head down so she could softly kiss his mouth.
