Avalon (19 page)

Into Rumon's mind there darted a curious irrelevance. He had never seen Alfrida weep. Aye, but of course he had. The noble grief for Edgar when he lay dying.

"Rumon!" Merewyn cried, clutching at his arm, "I pray you ..."

"Enough," he said, shaking oif her hand. "I'll never listen to your wicked hes." He turned and stalked down the village street, leaving her alone.

The Corfe Castle feast at dusk that afternoon was the gayest of all this Yuletide's festivities. The young Kling was in high spirits. He had speared a great boar in the forest — single-handed— and knew that his thanes were impressed by his courage. In fact, Godwin, the royal gleeman, made up a new song, extolling the King's feat, and sang it for them while the wassail bowl was passed up and down the High Table. And Edward was happy because — though he had much enjoyed his visit to Corfe — he was returning to Winchester on the morrow, and very soon Elgifu and her parents would come there too, and he might at least see her often during the Lenten period of waiting for their wedding.

When Rumon and Alfrida rose hand in hand, and kneeling before the King, asked his consent and blessing on their betrothal, Edward gave one of his rare, boyish laughs. "Why 't-tis an excellent idea!" he cried. "See how one m-marriage leads to another! M-my cousin Rumon and my Lady M-mother. Seems fitting! What do you say, Ethelred?" He turned to his young brother, who had already drunk a great deal of the strong spiced wine, and looked confused. His beautiful young face was flushed, his pale golden head drooped. "What-chyou mean?" he asked thickly. He tried to focus on Rumon and Alfrida who were both dressed in red — the bridal color.

Edward gave Ethelred a good-natured thwack on the shoulder. "Never m-mind, you little toper," he said smiling. "Your consent's not needed, and I freely give m-mine!"

A roar of congratulations surged around the Hall. Shouts of

"Wassail!" "Wassail!" and the answering "Drink heil!" "Drink heil!"

Rumon pot his arm around Alfrida's waist; he kissed her on the lips, yet at the same time, without full awareness of it, he watched Alfhere. The Earl's shouts of congratulations were as fervent as anyone's. More than that, he leaped upon a bench and made a boisterous speech extolling the pleasures of the marriage bed, and wishing the new-affianced couple a lusty brood of progeny to carry on their august lines.

By midnight almost everyone was drunk. Gunnar, though staggering, helped his master and Ethelred up to bed. The thanes sprawled on the benches. Even the normally temperate Rumon had succumbed, and slept with his head on Alfrida's lap.

All the candles had guttered out, except the huge one — as big around as a neck — on which an approximation of the hours was marked with encircling red paint. It acted as the Castle clock, and burned down for twenty-four hours. Alfrida glanced at it, then dared at last to look towards Alfhere. He had drunk as much as any of them, but he had an iron head and never showed his liquor, and he sat with chin propped on fists, watching Alfrida, down the table from him. She had barely sipped the wassail, and alert for the safe moment^ now made a cautious signal.

Rumon did not move as she eased his head down on the bench. "I'm going to the latrine," she murmured to him, in case there might be a remnant of consciousness. There was not.

She glided from behind the table and out of the door to the inner ward. Alfhere followed in a minute. Nobody else stirred in the whole besotted Castle.

The two conferred for some rime. The next day Alfhere departed with the King and his company.

The winter weeks passed quickly for Rumon. He kept busy, riding, hawking and practicing archery. His intellectual interests returned. He entertained himself by making a new English

translation of Bocthius, the Roman philosopher, lingering plea-surably on such statements as "Who can give law to lovers? Love is a greater law to itself."

And he made up riddles to amuse Alfrida.

He saw her daily at the Castle, but there was no more carnal intimacy between them. Rumon had gone back to Wareham and made full confession to the priest at St. Mary's, fie had been absolved from his sins of fornication, having vowed that they would not recur, and he found contentment and relief at being once more enabled to take the Sacrament at Mass. After all he and Alfrida had but to wait through Lent until their wedding and the blessing of the Church on their fleshly union.

Alfrida agreed, as she did to everything he proposed during this time. She looked docilely at the plans he drew for their castle in Somerset. She listened to his descriptions of the wonders of Ireland — descriptions Rumon had garnered from the monk Finian at Glastonbury. She smiled at the riddles, particularly one about a bookworm which ended, "And yet-that stealthy thief in the dark was never made the wiser by the words he swallowed."

In March, past the middle of Lent it occurred to Rumon that his beloved did not look well. She had grown thin, there were shadows beneath the violet eyes, and at times she had a strained anxious expression, almost as though she were waiting for something which did not come.

He taxed her gently with too much Lenten fasting; indeed when he dined with her she ate almr^st nothing. She seemed startled, but said that perhaps he was right. "Only I get so tired of greens and salt fish. I believe I heard that off St. Aldhelm's Head the mackerel are running. S^^mething fresh would tempt my palate. Could you arrange that?"

Rumon instantly said that he could, f lis chief housecarl, Le/jf, had once been a fisherman on the Severn,

"Will you go with your servant, Rumon?" she asked softly. "Make an expedition of it. Take Ethelred too, the boy wants a

change. I shall rest in bed a few days, for 'tis true I've not felt quite myself."

And so it was arranged. Alfrida retired to her chamber under the care of Lady Britta and Lady Walsiga — the fat, stupid wife of a Dorset thane who had been commandeered to replace Alerewyn.

The fishing expedition was gone for three days. Ethelred was not only excessively bored, but he was afraid to put out to sea in the oval hide-bound coracles. He spent his time lolling in St. Aldhelm's Chapel, and badgering its sohtary monk.

Rumon, on the contrary, enjoyed his days on that wild coast. The weather was good, overcast but not wet, there was little wind, and Rumon soon learned to paddle his skittish coracle, and even caught a couple of mackerel himself.

They returned with a dozen fish, carefully preserved in wet seaweed, and found that in their absence a visitor had arrived. This was Cild Aelfric, Alfhere's twenty-four-year-old son and heir. He had come, it seemed, to visit his poor sister, Britta, and break the tragic news to her that their mother, Godleva, had finally died.

All this Rumon was told after he proudly presented the fish to Alfrida, who received them and him radiantly. She had entirely recovered her health; he rejoiced to see her gay and so beautiful that afternoon at dinner. She wore the elaborate new white and gold dress — about which Rumon had never questioned her, having rejected all Merewyn's crazy talk. Alfrida had twined early primroses into a garland, and the flowers — Httle paler than her hair — added a youthful sweetness. They all dined greedily on the mackerel, and then Alfrida, having made seemly allusion to the sad reason for Cild Aelfric's visit, pressed him for more news. "We are so far off here, and I have heard nothing about the King, the Court or anyone, since they all left in January."

Cild Aelfric was physically very unlike his father. He was beardless, slight, weedy, and had a high somewhat girlish voice.

His mouse-colored hair hung lankly about his narrow ears. His stubby eyelashes were so light that one tended not to notice the cold shrewdness of the hazel eyes behind them. To the uninformed he appeared insignificant. Yet at nineteen he had won his honorary knightly title of "Cild" — or "Childe" by engineering a subtle plot for the massacre of four of his father's enemies. He possessed neither conscience nor fears. He paid lip service to the observance of religion only when it suited him, and was entirely free from Alfhere's occasional attacks of worry over hellfire and damnation.

"Not much news," he said, answering Alfrida. "Edward prepares for his wedding — and, oh yes, to be sure — there was that hocus-pocus at the Witan in Calne last week. Another 'miracle' for the Monastic party, which I believe impressed my father."

"What was the miracle?" asked Rumon slowly.

Aelfric shrugged. "I wasn't there, nor the King, but Dunstan was, had traveled all the way from Canterbury to force through a law returning the monasteries to the Benedictine rule. My father was furious. You can imagine what a row there was, stamping and shouting, and Dunstan was losing, as usual, when the floor gave way. Everybody but Dunstan fell down to the room below. One thane was killed, others hurt. My noble father sprained his ankle."

"What happened to the Archbishop?" said Rumon.

"Oh, he seems to have balanced himself on the one beam which didn't collapse. Pity he didn't fall with the rest, for the bishops were very quick to cry 'Miracle'!"

"Aye, of course," said Rumon dryly. "Like the speaking crucifix in Winchester Chapter House. Yet I cannot believe that Lord Dunstan knew how that was done, nor was party to this, which would moreover seem hard to arrange ahead of time."

"Oh —" interjected Alfrida, who was not interested in any happenings at Calne, and had been toying with her girdle clasp. "Surely, Rumon, you are not still siding with that wicked,

meddlesome old man! You know how much trouble he always gave ME."

"I have hoped that he would solemnize our marriage," said Rumon, gravely.

Alfrida started; a violent flush covered her face and neck. Her underlip dropped, her eyes narrowed. She gave Rumon a malignant look, which he could not believe he had seen, since it vanished at once, as Cild Aelfric said in his high lisping voice, "Oh, I forgot to tell you. The King is coming back to Corfe next week. One of the royal archers reported a wild boar, big as a pony, with tusks two feet long, seen in the Purbeck Chase. The monster killed one of the forester's children. And Edward feels that though hunting for game is forbidden in Lent, the killing of a murderous beast is different."

Alfrida, who had already learned of this prospect from Cild Aelfric — and learned considerably more besides — sipped some wine, composed her face, and smiled. Rumon was slightly puzzled. He had heard of no huge dangerous boar ranging the royal preserve near Corfe. Such news usually got around. However, he was pleased to know that the young King would again be in the vicinity. He Hked Edward, and knew that he was a good influence on Ethelred. ^

"When will the King be here?" Rumon asked. "He is coming to the Castle?"

"Oh, yes," said Aelfric. "He particularly wants to pay his respects to the Lady Alfrida; to you. Lord Rumon; and to his little brother." The young man's pale eyes exchanged a lightning glance with Alfrida. "One can't be quite certain of the day," he continued.

"I'll post a lookout in the tower," she said. "Be sure that we see Edward coming in time to give him proper welcome."

There was nothing in this natural statement to disquiet Rumon. And yet he felt a quiver of unease. There had been a strange note in her voice, a voice he had often hkened to silver bells; surely it was ridiculous to think that the bells had jangled.

What's the matter with me? he thought, looking at her beautiful face beneath the innocent primrose garland.

For the next week, nothing else disquieted Rumon. True, Cild Aelfric stayed on at the Castle, averring that he too wanted to greet his King and hear about the boar hunt, but Rumon thought little about that. One could not be jealous of this young man whose tastes quite obviously did not run towards women; besides he was an entertaining addition to their sparse company. He had a fund of rather malicious anecdotes; he played chess with Alfrida — a game Rumon had never learned — he could play the viol, and sing with it in a thin tenor.

Monday, March i8th, was a day of high winds and intermittent sunshine. After a nearly sleepless night, Alfrida was awakened at dawn by Britta who came nervously mincing into the chamber carrying a posset of warm milk. "Your pardon, my lady," she said quickly to forestall annoyance, "but my brother wishes to speak with you — at once."

Alfrida curbed the angry rebuke on her lips, sat up slowly. "What about?" she said in a faint voice.

Britta shook her head. "I don't know, my lady." She sniffled, being afflicted by one of her colds. "Cild Aelfric never tells me anything."

Naturally not, you sickly, snuffling idiot, Alfrida thought. But Britta's total lack of curiosity, and her dullness of mind were assets.

"My chamber robe," Alfrida commanded. "And poke up the fire." Britta obeyed, wrapped her mistress in a loose gown of purple wool, ineffectually poked at the fire, and picked the ivory and gold comb off the table. Alfrida pushed it away. "Let be!" she said. "You're too clumsy. I'll do my hair later." For a moment she regretted the loss of Merewyn — Merewyn as she had been during the first years. "Let your brother come in," she said.

end Aelfric soon appeared and shut the heavy wooden door carefully behind him. He glanced indifferently at Alfrida's

masses of tangled yellow hair, at her pale sharp early morning face, unsoftened by the usual tints and unguents. "It'll be today," he said.

She stiffened, her cheeks grew paler. "How do you know?"

"Messenger. Arrived an hour ago. One of my father's thanes, disguised as a woodcutter."

"Where is my lord Alfhere?" she asked, her voice faltering.

"With Edward in Great Wood, near the Drinking Barrow. Oddly enough —" said Gild Aelfric, quirking his eyebrows, "they've found no trace of the giant boar. And Edward being so near here is coming to Corfe today."

"How can we be sure he comes alone?" she whispered.

"My father has seen to that. A delay in following the King is easily arranged since every retainer accompanying Edward on this hunting expedition is in my father's pay. You may trust his wits — as well as his purse."

Alfrida breathed fast. Her old white cat stretched and gave a long drawn-out mew. She pulled it to her lap and began to stroke it violently, so that it struggled while her grip tightened. "I'm afraid—" she said beneath her breath. "Afraid — what if things go wrong?"

He made an exasperated sound. "They won't.. We're making triply sure. You have Wulfgar posted in the tower, and he has his orders?" She nodded. "And you will have the welcome cup in readiness — what are you putting in it?"

"Nightshade," she murmured, her hands clenching in the white fur. He nodded. "I'll do the rest. The httle matter of the stirrup — and this." He put his hand on a short silver-hilted dagger which hung from his belt. "There's a spot by the left shoulder blade which draws very little blood."

"But it must look Hke an accident!" she cried.

"It will. At least nobody will care to prove it otherwise. By the bye, what of Rumon? Best keep him out of the way. A sleeping draught, I imagine — not lethal of course — we might

need him later. Give it to him as soon as he comes to the CastL this morning. Tell him he looks to be sickened with fever."

Her hands went hmp on the cat, which fled. "I'm afraid —" she murmured again. "I see darkness ahead — darkness . . ."

"Christ, woman!" Aelfric caught her by the shoulders and shook her. "Isn't this what you've been planning for years? You've never shown cowardice before! You'll be well mated to my father, and isn't that what you want? Don't you wish to be Queen of England again, with far more power than you ever had under Edgar? Stop this maundering drivel, or I'll wield my considerable influence to see that you donH marry my father, and to keep Ethelred from the throne. Then off you go to Somerset or Ireland with your dear Rumon!"

"Never!" she said, raising her head. "I've come to hate the man. His stupid devotion sickens me. He makes me uncomfortable —" Her voice trailed off. She had almost said that Rumon made her feel unclean.

"Well then!" Cild Aelfric stepped back and gave his high-pitched laugh. "Get prepared, Lady, for we have much to do e'er nightfall."

When Rumon came up to the Castle later, Alfrida welcomed him charmingly, and inquired at once about his health. He repUed that it was fine, but she thought otherwise and said she would prepare for him a little draught, which was certain to ward off the spring fevers. He was touched by her solicitude, and yet when she brought the draught and he tasted it and found it had an acrid musty tang, he surreptitiously poured it on the floor rushes — not wanting to hurt her feelings.

A man, he thought tenderly, must sometimes decide these things for himself. Women, even the best of them, were prone to fuss. Besides she seemed in more danger of a fever than he did.

Her eyes glittered. She was extremely restless, pacing up and

down the Hall. She started when he spoke of the King's probable arrival — when would it be?

"How can one tell?" she replied, staring past him at the tapestried wall. "How can one ever tell the future. St. Mary, but it's cold in here!" she added angrily. "Can't those housecarls ever build a decent fire? And the wind blows so, waiUng in the chimney like a demon. Jesu, how I hate this Castle!"

"You'll not be in it long," Rumon said. "And I assure you ours in Somerset'll be protected from the winds. I'll have it all built of stone, as they do in France. Much snugger."

"No doubt." She tried to smile, but her hps quivered, and she glanced towards the Hall door through which Wulfgar would come running from the watchtower. "Rumon," she said, wondering why he showed no signs of sleepiness — the draught she gave him had been laced with poppy juice — "Rumon, where is Ethelred? Shouldn't you be teaching him something?"

"Perhaps—" Rumon smiled. "At any rate I'll find him for you. My love, you seem distracted today, nervous."

" 'Tis the wind," she answered. "And the time of the moon which afflicts women."

"You should rest, then," he said. "I'll take Ethelred out riding."

"No! No!" she cried vehemently, for there must be no possible risk of his meeting Edward. "There's too much wind. March winds are dangerous. You must stay inside. Give the boy a writing lesson. In truth, he makes little progress."

"Ethelred has not a scholar's mind," said Rumon temperately. "But he improves in other ways — manners and disposition."

She was not listening to him, but to a sound she fancied she heard outside. Wulfgar descending the stairs? or Cild Aelfric who was also unobtrusively keeping watch through a sht window in the upper passage.

Rumon was conscious of her strained expression, of the tremor which rippled through her body. He pulled her carved wooden armchair nearer to the fire. "Sit down, my love," he said.

"Rest." There was no further sound from outside the Hall, so she obeyed him, and rested her primrose-garlanded head on the gilded chair back. "You're a good man, Rumon —" she said in a thin voice. "What a pity that goodness is not — always rewarded."

Rumon laughed, looking down at her fondly. "Oh, I think it may be," he said. He bent over and kissed her on the forehead, savoring, as always, her perfume — reheved to feel the forehead so cool under his Ups.

This was the last time that he ever touched Alf rida.

The wind blew all day off the sea. It moaned down the chimneys and Hfted bits of thatching from the roofs. But the sun continued to shine intermittently behind scudding white clouds. Little of the sunshine penetrated into Corfe Castle's great Hall, where Alfrida kept the shutters closed, being unable to bear the cold draughts. The Hall was lit by the fire, and by the huge candle which acted as clock.

At three, they all dined together — Alfrida, Rumon, Ethelred, Cild Aelfric, and the Ladies Britta and Walsiga. Everyone but Alfrida ate heartily of eggs, cheese, and bread downed with ale. Alfrida poked a bit of bread around her wooden trencher, then subsided into an apathy which worried Rumon, though Cild Aelfric made up for her silence by a spate of lewd jokes which soon had Ethelred — precocious enough in this area — howling with laughter.

Between Jokes, Cild Aelfric excused himself from time to time, saying that he had caught cold in his bladder. Upon each return to the Hall, Alfrida looked up, then lowered her head again.

Once Cild Aelfric, profiting by Rumon's polite converse with the Lady Walsiga, whispered into Alfrida's ear. "Why isn't Rumon asleep?" "Don't know," she answered from the corner of her mouth. "I put in enough." "Where is it?" he hissed.

She shpped her hand into the pouch which hung at her girdle

and brought out a small glass vial, nearly full of a brownish liquid.

Cild Aelfric took the vial, then turning to Rumon said, "We all seem rather dull today. Lord Rumon, we need music. Where is your harp?"

"Over there, hanging on the peg," said Rumon.

"Oh, play to us, my sweet," said Alfrida. "I pray you."

Rumon bowed, and walked across the Hall to get his harp. Cild Aelfric made a Hghtning movement, and poured the vial's hquid into Rumon's unfinished ale. The Ladies Britta and Wal-siga noticed nothing, because at a signal from their mistress they were traihng out towards the Bower and their duties. Ethelred saw Cild Aelfric's motion and thought nothing of it, for he was pouting, gripped as usual by a single idea at a time.

"/ don't want to hear Rumon play," he said. "I want another of Cild Aelfric's stories — like the monk in the cornfield with the blacksmith's lass."

Aelfric laughed his giggling peal. He pinched the boy on the cheek. "Hey, my pretty one — you're full young to be thinking of those games. But after Lord Rumon has played to us — something stirring about battle, perhaps? Then I promise you one more droll tale. My lord —" he bowed to Rumon, "wassail to you, as the ablest of bards!" He drank from his beaker, the others followed. Then as was customary, Rumon acknowledged the toast. "Drink heil," he said, smiling, and drained his beaker noting vaguely that the ale had an acrid taste. He turned to Alfrida. "If you like, dearest lady, I'll sing you something from my own country. I learned it long ago from a blind harper and it has to do with the voyage to Provence of the Three Saintes Maries, I always thought it charming and I've made a translation for you."

Alfrida inclined her head graciously.

Rumon tuned his harp, riffled a chord, and began a gay haunting song Englished into the unrhymed alKterative meters which pleased the Anglo-Saxon ear.

Stout was the ship These holy folk Did sail in Over the swan-bath. From that sad land Where all Had bided near Their Loving Lord. God's breath blew The Boat upon a beach There was Mary the maid; Mary the mother And Mary the Magdalene. Martha too And Maximin And Sara, swart as soot —

Alfrida jerked up her head, and Rumon paused, for they all heard the sound of footsteps, running down the wooden stairs outside. "At last," said Cild Aelfric, beneath his breath, gripping Alfrida's arm. He ran to open the door and Wulfgar burst in, his broad stupid face ahght.

"The KJng —" he said to Alfrida, "is riding up the Castle Hill."

"He's alone?" she said in a flat breathy voice.

"Alone, Lady. Not even one of his hounds did I see."

"I'll greet him at once," she said, taking a ready-filled silver cup from a shelf. Cild Aelfric had already disappeared down the private stairs, and Rumon naturally made to follow him.

"No!" she cried. "You stay here with Ethelred. It is my privilege to greet the King alone in my own Castle!"

Rumon hesitated. An odd languor was seeping through his body. A drowsiness. "My place is beside you when you greet the King," he said slowly, and was aghast by the face of naked fury she turned on him. "I command that you stay here!" she screamed, and holding the silver cup to her breasts, ran through the door slamming it after her.

Rumon stood paralyzed, stock-stiU on the rushes. Then he put his harp carefully down on a bench, and turned to look at Ethelred who was cowering, big-eyed, behind his mother's chair.

"Don't disobey her, Rumon — when she's like this," whispered the boy.

"When she's like this —" Rumon repeated in a dragging voice.

Like this, the demon woman of his two dreams. Like Mere-

wyn's warnings. "Evil coming." "Blood." "Fear" — "Danger" — the meaningless words. My head spins, I can't think. Why can't I think?

A voice spoke very clearly and quietly inside his mind. "Because you have been poisoned." The voice pierced through him like a spear. He jumped, and running to the brass basin of water for hand-washings, poured the greasy contents over his head. He sluiced his face, and sticking his finger down his throat, tried to vomit, but could not. He flung open the door, thinking even then that it was a mercy there was no way of barring it from the outside.

He ran down the private stairs, and stopped transfixed at a slit window which commanded the gate.

Edward, his fair head gleaming in the sunset rays, was sitting easily astride his gray stalHon, and leaning down to accept the stirrup cup which Alfrida — all welcoming curtsies — was handing up to him.

Cild Aelfric stood upon the mounting block to the left and a trifle behind the King. Wulfgar stood on the horse's other side holding the bridle. Edward, smiling, took the cup from Alfrida, and began to drink.

"Stop!" Rumon shouted through the window. "Edward — don't drink!"

Edward heard the shout and looked around him, startled. At that moment Cild Aelfric and Wulfgar both sprang at the boy-king, who started to laugh, then quavered, "What are you trying to do, break my arm?"