“I’ll leave you with the Lady Maeve, cousin to Dermot Mac Mael-nambo, King of Dublin and Leinster,” the Earl had told us. “The Irish have kings all over their land and are much divided. This same Dermot once gave shelter to our enemy, young Harold Godwine, but it seems he’s ready enough to give us welcome now.”
Irish hospitality is a thing of such legend that even in East Anglia we had heard of it. Doubtless Dermot was amused to offer sanctuary to both sides of warring factions. Irish humor can be hard to fathom.
The Lady Maeve greeted us graciously in her cousin’s name. Her house was of timber, neither as large nor as fine as our hall, but I saw straightway that she had many beautiful things. Her table was set with goblets of glass, the first I ever saw, and Morkere broke his on the first night. He threw it from the table because he did not like the strange taste of the food. The Earl looked at my mother, my mother looked at Owain, and Morkere was taken outside somewhere.
There were cups and plates of silver, knives of staghorn and squares of fine linen just for wiping our mouths! That was what Edwin liked best; he minced about and dabbed his at his lips until I wanted to hit him. “Can’t you behave yourself, Edwin?” I demanded of him after that first supper.
“I am behaving myself, sister dear! I am learning to adjust to the customs of the country just as quickly as I can and I would urge you to do the same.”
“You’re not adjusting, you’re just making fun of them!”
“Perhaps they don’t know that,” he tossed off, and I saw that the cruel streak in my brother was strengthening with age.
Our first Irish meal was unlike the roasts and boiled meat we were accustomed to at home. It was also much better than the vile stuff given us aboard ship, though we had not eaten overmuch of that! Cooks in white caps and aprons of linen served us trays heaped with wheat cakes, bowls of oatmeal and boiled eggs. There was warm milk still a-foam from the cow, and honey scented with clover and thyme. Maeve and her retinue were delighted with a joint of some stringy, herbed meat, but I could not stomach it. Only my father ate a goodly portion, as the laws of hospitality required.
When we could eat no more we were sent to bed, with Emma and the boys’ bodyservants to tend our needs. The Earl and his Lady remained talking before the fire with the Lady Maeve.
This fire was not on a raised hearth in the center of the hall, as is our custom, but set against the wall. The smoke of the burning peat which the Irish use for fuel was left to find its own way out through the thatch of the roof. As a result, the walls were sooted black, and everything was permeated with that pungent odor. To this day I have only to close my eyes and summon the smell of peatfire, and all of Ireland comes back to me.
That night we slept between linen sheets, with embroidered coverlets in heathen patterns. Not yet accustomed to sleeping in unfamiliar beds, I had Emma lie with me and hold me.
“Emma … ?”
“Sssshhhh, childie. Go to sleep.”
“But I want to know! Emma, is my father not disgraced here? We are being treated so honorably I do not know if the Irish think my father good or bad!”
Emma shifted her bulk in the bed. Sheets were a novelty, and I do not think she liked them. “Quit fretting what folk think of your father, my lady. Haven’t you been raised as a noble? That means you are proud of your many great ancestors who did noble deeds; your strength must come from them.”
My lady mother was a noble, too, and her strength seemed to have deserted her completely the day her husband was named an outlaw.
“Where does your strength come from, Emma?”
There was a long silence. Then, “Myself, I suppose. That’s all folk like me have.”
I would give a lot of thought to that later. But it did not answer my question that night. “What about me Emma? Can I be proud here, as I was proud at home?”
Her voice scolded me. “You can be proud anywhere, my lady! You are Edyth of the line of Alfred; no one can take that away from you!”
Satisfied, I slept.
The Earl Aelfgar sailed for Wales within the week, feeling certain that he had acquired some Irish allies. The rest of us, save only Owain, who went with my father, remained in Ireland all that year. We were not shamed in that green and rainy land, but treated as honored guests and made very comfortable. In some ways, the noble Irish live with more luxury than we Saxons. Yet in other ways they are surprisingly coarse.
The Lady Maeve could not dress her own hair, never having done so in her life. Each morning she sat before a fine mirror of polished metal while her maidservant combed her hair with a jeweled comb taken from a special comb bag of soft leather embossed with gold. She put red powder on her cheeks, blue upon her eyelids, and rubbed her teeth with a hazel twig dipped in salt. When her toilet was completed to her satisfaction, she went out to the stinking cow byre to milk the cow.
I thought the Lady Maeve very old, for she was at least as old as my mother. In truth, she must have been about five and thirty, which age does not seem so great to me now. She was very tall and deep-bosomed, her greatest beauty being a mane of heavy hair the color of dark red oak leaves. She had surpassing strength for a woman; I saw her move a huge chest across the room when her own steward could not. In the evening, when we were ofttimes entertained by a storyteller, I came to recognize her for the heroine of many an Irish tale.
The Celts have a special attitude about their women. In Irish tales the heroines are always beautiful and courageous warrior queens. In Scot Land, I have heard, the fashion is for women to be beautiful and mightily proud. In Wales, women besung by the bards must be beautiful and delicately tender. (I, the Saxon, am none of these things; yet when my Griffith loved me I was all of them!)
Those months in Ireland were a learning time for me. In my ignorance I had thought all people other than my own uncivilized, barbaric. My lady mother thought that and never changed her opinion. Yet in Ireland I found a civilization so ancient, even the bards could not say when it began. When nothing but birds and fishes owned East Anglia, the Irish already made gold jewelry so fine it was carried to every distant land. Laws they had, and the old Druidic religion, and a land so rich no man need go hungry.
I had been taught those things deemed all a lady need know: sewing, weaving, the use of herbs and spices and the brewing of mead, how to tend the sick and do honor to guests. But Maeve’s children could read! I swear it is true; not only her four strapping sons, but even her two daughters could look at a written thing and name every word! Even her steward, a savage-looking fellow with black hair and shoulders like a porter—that man could read! It was a thing so widely accepted that no one ever asked me if I could or not. Fortunately.
One bluelit afternoon, with rain pattering on the thatch, Maeve’s son Brian and I sat before the fire with the chessboard balanced on our knees. Chess is a game that has all of Ireland in thrall, from the noblest household to the poorest hovel. Where they learned it I know not, but it is a constant occupation, and many cattle and sheep are wagered on the outcome of the battle between the courts of Black and White.
Brian was a forward fellow, letting his leg press against mine every chance I gave him. And I gave him a few. I was doing so well with the game that I became suspicious, for the thing was uncommon complicated, and I knew I had not learned it well enough to beat him.
“Brian, are you letting me win?”
He gave me a wide-eyed stare with big blue eyes like his mother’s. “Why would I do that, lady?”
“Courtesy to a guest … ?”
He laughed, but with a false sound to it. “Never would I do that, Lady Edyth! It is not courteous, but rude, to allow your opponent to win. That would insult him.”
For some reason my temper flared. “You lie! You are letting me win, so by your own words you are insulting me!”
He raised a hand in protest, but I was a-shake with excitement and would not give him a chance. “You insult me in other ways as well, you knave! You stare at me too boldly when you t
hink I’m not looking, you find too many excuses for laying hands on me … !”
As I leaped to my feet to give emphasis to my words, the chessboard clattered to the floor. The cunningly wrought knights and bishops and yeomen scattered everywhere, as many a real court has done, and the hapless white king rolled straight into the fire. As many a king has done.
Quarrels among the young were taken lightly, but the careless destruction of a family treasure was cause for severe reprimand. It fell to my lady mother to chastise me.
I have said little about my lady mother, for, in truth, there is little to say. She was a handsome woman with wheaten hair, but was so quiet and deferential to my father that she had little color in our household. After the Earl’s banishment she became timid and nervous, slow to speak and quick to cry. Her cowing encouraged my brothers to disobey her openly. Lacking the Earl at her side, she became the shadow without the sun.
After supper she came to me, twisting her hands nervously in her skirt as she did much. “You have injured the ancient law of hospitality, Edyth,” she said in her soft voice, “so you must give up a treasure yourself.”
In truth I had little, only my own jewelry and clothes. Already I was thinking in terms of the dowry I hoped to need, and nothing could be spared. I answered as best I could, telling her my possessions could not be spared to replace a rather foolish toy.
Her sad face grew sadder still. “I see you are selfish as well as bad-tempered. You are of an age when the blood runs hot, so mayhap you will outgrow your temper. But the vice of selfishness can ride you all your life. I feel shame that the daughter of Aelfgar would begrudge one of her trinkets to someone who sheltered us in our trouble.”
What she said was painfully true, but I would not have her think so of me. I used the only weapon in my defense.
“Lady Mother, by year’s end we will be restored to the earldom! Father is sworn to that; even now he raises troops to win back what is rightfully ours! When we go home I will be of an age to marry—indeed, I am now. So you see, I cannot give up the few valuables I possess. I will need them, and many more, for I must go to my husband well dowered!”
The poor lady could not summon the heart even to insist; she just left me alone. Later, I saw that she had given her own favorite brooch to the Lady Maeve, and I felt ashamed. My outburst of temper had cooled as quickly as it flared, and all I had to show for it was my mother’s reproach and my own embarrassment. In the sanctuary of my bed I reflected on the folly of rash actions, and the wisdom to be found in a gentle demeanor. It was as Emma said, only I could bring shame on myself.
On the day next I sought out Brian and apologized. The words stuck in my throat, which made me seem more meek than I felt, but Brian appeared pleased. He accepted my plea with grace and was charming to me all that day.
Another lesson learned, thought I. Men prefer soft women. Life is more pleasant when we are more pliable. So.
After that I took care to see that there were no more outbursts of temper, and if a rebellious spirit flared up in me, I nursed it in the quiet of my own bed and did not inflict it upon others. My brothers behaved otherwise and seemed to be always in trouble.
Where would I be today, had I not learned to be compliant and yielding?
We were well into the season of Christ Mass when word came at last of the Lord Aelfgar. The Lady Maeve and her steward were in the town, Edwin was lurking somewhere around the docks, and my lady mother and I sat in the late afternoon gloom, mending clothes. Our wardrobes were beginning to show signs of much wear, but our position was thought too precarious to allow the purchase of new cloth. I was thinking bitterly that soon I would be dressing in rough cottage wool when we heared a knock at the door.
No member of the household would knock! We exchanged nervous glances; then I leaped to my feet and raced to the door.
In the muddy forecourt a dark and handsome man waited with perfect composure, though his clothes were common and stained. When he saw my face he broke into a radiant smile. In his transformed features I saw a likeness to my father’s Owain—our visitor was a Welshman! He proved me right by beginning to speak in a musical voice that tripped nimbly over the Saxon words and turned them into something like song. (How sweetly they sing, the Cymry!)
“Greetings to the house of Maeve Mac Mael-nambo, and the compliments of my Prince to the family of Aelfgar, Earl of East Anglia!”
I heard my mother gasp behind me. Even our Irish hosts had not referred directly to my father as Earl of East Anglia. Flustered, I bade our visitor enter without asking either his name or rank. My mother remembered her manners even if I did not; in a twinkling she had him seated at the hearth, a servant fetching him beer and cakes, and was questioning him eagerly.
“You come from the Prince, in Wales?”
“Yes, my lady, I just arrived this day after a most unpleasant voyage in a dreadful Irish coracle. My Lord Griffith, son of the Prince Llywelyn, sent me at utmost speed to inform you of the victory of his forces and those of the Earl Aelfgar. My Lord Griffith feared you would be distressed and worried, and he would not leave ladies in that condition.”
My mother and I exchanged glances, and her eyebrows were lifted almost into her hair. Such consideration for women was not a common thing in our acquaintance, even among the nobility. What sort of man was this Griffith that he would dispatch a messenger all the way across the water to reassure his ally’s family?
“My good fellow,” began my lady mother, “I do not believe I know your name … ?”
“I am Madog son of Gwyn, my lady, and servitor to the Court of Gwynedd.” He spoke with great pride, his chin held high, not at all as one of our servants would have spoken. I felt some confusion; was our messenger of noble breeding, then? (It was only in Wales that I learned that all Welsh speak that way. Like the Irish, the Cymry believe that every man is a king. It makes it difficult to determine station.)
Madog began straightway with an accounting of all that had happened since my father had arrived at Holyhead with a force of eighteen Viking dragonships whose alliance he had won!
The monks at Holyhead had arranged guides to take my father to the Welsh Prince’s court. The dragonships with their cargo of fighting men sailed on to the port of Caernarvon and were disembarked there. Thus it was that, in a few days, the Earl and a very sizable complement of men-at-arms arrived at the court of Gwynedd. The Prince greeted them with hospitality, even lodging the Vikings with his own servitors. He listened to Aelfgar’s story sympathetically, although he could not refrain from commenting many times on the treachery of the English court and on the barbarism of the Godwines in particular.
How odd it was that the Prince of the wild Welsh thought Saxons and Danes barbaric!
“But how did the Earl come by the Viking dragonships?” I could not resist asking.
Madog chuckled. “I understand that the Vikings prefer fighting to food and drink. The Earl recruited them right here in Dublin harbor, with a promise of much bloodletting and a share of the spoils.”
“But they will be fighting against their own kind!” my lady mother protested. “It was the Danes who spoke against my husband in the Witan and had him outlawed!”
Madog looked pityingly at us women, who could not understand simple warfare. “Men always fight most savagely against their own kind; it is easier to stir up grievances against someone you know.”
The Earl had put his proposition to Prince Griffith, and they agreed to join forces “after the Lord Aelfgar offered sufficient inducements,” according to Madog. The joint force set out with little delay. It was agreed that the most vulnerable target, that which would hurt the English most, was the town of Hereford. Before the Earl Ralph’s family had risen from dinner in his castle, the village was attacked. The raiders pillaged the town, putting it all to the torch, and even sacked the pretentious cathedral of the Bishop Athelstan, an outspoken foe of the Welsh. By daylight on the twenty-fifth of October, a train loaded with booty and captives was making i
ts unchallenged way back to the safety of Wales.
The horror of the English court was easy to imagine. A new Welsh uprising, led by a Prince with a reputation for war and an exiled Saxon Earl who obviously still possessed power! Harold Godwine went straightway to Gloucester in the King’s name.
He was able to put together a fighting force and march them westward, but the hastily assembled English fyrd was ignorant about mountain warfare and could never even get close to Griffith. At last Harold settled for refortifying the ruined town of Hereford and went to Winchester to advise King Edward to negotiate for peace.
The Lady Maeve returned just in time to order torches lit and hear the last of Madog’s recital. The last, and the best.
“And so, it is my happy duty to inform you that a treaty has been concluded. My Lord Griffith is given all that border land which has long been in dispute, and the Lord Aelfgar is restored to his title and holdings!”
So long had we waited for these words, we could not believe we had heard aright. Madog had to repeat himself twice before my mother would accept it, then she burst into such a storm of weeping we were all frightened for her. Poor Madog was most perplexed to see his glad tidings merit such a reaction, and Maeve was distraught—as well she might be, now that we were suddenly made persons of great importance once more. Only when a scented linen had been applied to my mother’s temples did she regain some composure. By that time the Lady Maeve had become so solicitous of her guest’s health that her hovering was making us all nervous.
Then Edwin and Morkere returned and the news had to be repeated for them. With each telling I became more convinced that it was true—and also that there was something still to tell. The Lady Maeve set out a splendid supper for us and even brought in a paid minstrel, which showed that she was as unsure of Madog’s status as I. When we were all fat with eating—I found my appetite much improved—I drew Madog aside to question him about my father’s safety.
The Wind From Hastings Page 3
