Avelynn (15 page)

“Good.”

“I beg you, let me take my leave.”

“Silence.” Her voice echoed off the walls. “You'll get what you came for.”

There was a great deal of rustling. I recognized the sounds of pottery being knocked about, a pestle grinding, a mallet pounding. When she finished her ministrations, she chanted in a strange tongue. I didn't recognize the language but sensed tremendous power in her words. The hairs rose on the back of my neck. Who was this woman? Why had I never heard of her before? Openly declaring oneself pagan was suicide. How had she kept herself hidden?

She appeared in front of me, holding a knife wet with blood. I scrambled back, standing. My mind raced to formulate a plan of escape or attack. I reached for the knife tied around my waist.

“Steel cannot help you.”

I couldn't make out her face. It was shrouded within a black hood; only a few strands of long gray hair were visible.

“Your blood.” Droplets fell from the knife's point into the bowl she held. “Now drink.” She pushed the bowl into my chest.

“No.” I adjusted my cloak so she could see the full length of the knife, its silver hilt visible in the murk.

“Steel will do you no good here. I have only to cry out, and my pet will make a quick meal of you.” Her teeth clicked together, and the beast appeared by her side. It was a brown bear.

I had seen a bear only once before, in a passing caravan when I was young. Restrained by thick ropes, the beast had lumbered behind its master's wagon, and I had felt tremendous sadness watching the creature endure its keeper's relentless whip. However, seeing one this close up, its sinister, pointed teeth, its muzzle flecked with bloody gristle, I felt only terror.

“Drink.”

My hands trembled, and I took the bowl from her thin, wrinkled hands.

“Drink.”

I placed the bowl near my mouth, terrified to put the vile liquid to my lips.

“Drink. Or we'll mess up that pretty little face of yours, won't we, precious.” She stroked the huge beast's head, its black, beady eyes watching vigilantly.

I tilted my head and downed the contents in one swallow, gagging on its foul taste. I heaved, but managed to keep it down, too afraid of what might happen if I brought it back up.

“Good girl.” The beast disappeared back into the shadows. “Now, where's my payment?”

“Payment? For what? Intimidation? Threats? Injuring my person? Poisoning me?”

She laughed—a shrill, shrieking sound. “Silly child, I was merely toying with you. Had I meant to hurt you, you would be dead. A lesson.” She waggled a pale, skinny finger at me. “You rush into things without thinking, girl. You are too willful. One day your behavior will get you into trouble.” She shuffled back into the dark. “You won't ripen with child this month, and you have until the next new moon to do as you please; no babe will cling to your womb. I'll give you enough herbs to last the full lunar cycle. If you need more, you must come back.”

I grabbed the small leather purse that hung from my belt. I shook it, coins jingling, and threw it onto the floor. “There.”

She scuttled over to the purse, grabbed the bag, and opened it. She stepped into the light, her back to me.

“Hold out your hand,” she croaked.

Afraid she was going to cut it again, I hesitated.

“Now.”

I offered her my right hand.

“Not that one.” She pushed it aside.

I thrust my left hand forward. It was shaking. I clenched my teeth while she rubbed some paste on the wound. It smelled sweet and fresh.

“That will heal by the morrow.” She turned it over, palm up, and dropped four small linen packages into my hand. “Empty the contents of one packet into a cup of boiling mead and drink on each of the next four Sundays. Do this and you will stay barren.” She disappeared again.

The creak of metal hinges and wood brushing over dirt caught my attention. I turned to find the source. A faint crack of daylight outlined the edges of the door.

“Go.”

I edged closer to the door, petrified the bear would suddenly lunge at me and tear me to pieces.

I crept sideways until I had both feet on the other side, back in the daylight.

She swung the door open. I unsheathed the knife from its scabbard and held it in front of me, daring her to take a step closer.

Still shrouded in shadow, she laughed. “Headstrong and beautiful. Just like your mother. Good luck, Avelynn,” she croaked, and slammed the door behind her.

“How do you know my name?” I yelled at the dark wood planks in front of me.

There was no answer. I waited a moment and repeated the question, banging on the door. “How do you know me?” Still no sound, no movement.

It was disconcerting enough to have a witness to my disobedience, but for this woman to know me, and possibly my mother, was entirely unsettling. But there was nothing I could do. I couldn't force the woman out, and I definitely didn't want to try to reenter the cottage.

The sky was darkening; a waxing quarter moon hovered above me. I needed to leave this wretched place. With a final glance over my shoulder, I left my question hanging in the air, mingling with the chattering bones, and mounted my horse, hell-bent for home.

 

NINE

A
PRIL 870

True to her word, Ealhswith sent for me two days before the full moon, but I had one last matter to settle before I left. I needed to address the grain inventories and had called a meeting of the council, inviting the townspeople as witnesses.

I wanted a written record of the matter and had asked Father Plegmund to record the proceedings. He wore a monk's robe of brown wool with a simple corded belt. His head, neatly tonsured above a mass of bright red hair, bent over a small table to the right of the dais, his quill suspended over a crisp piece of parchment.

Leofric escorted Sigberht, Milo, and Walther into the hall.

I took my father's seat. “Thank you all for attending on such short notice. A great injustice has been committed against Wedmore and cannot wait for my father's return.”

An excited hum rippled through the crowd. Appetites for gossip and scandal were gluttonous.

“After careful review of the grain inventory, I discovered significant discrepancies in the accounts. Over twenty bushels of grain went missing this year alone—that's equivalent to half an entire year's bread tax due the king. There were similar losses represented in last year's accounts as well.”

The din of whispers increased, and I raised a hand. My pride swelled, and I stifled a smile as all fell silent. I hadn't realized until that moment how badly I wanted the villagers to accept me. I set my shoulders. A great deal rested on today's outcome.

“I have posted a guard at each granary, and this practice will continue for the foreseeable future. Anyone wishing to have access to any of our food stores must seek my permission. I will review all transactions from this point forward.”

I swept my hand, indicating the men standing before me. “Sigberht of Otford, reeve of Wedmore; Milo, seneschal of Wedmore; Walther, steward of Wedmore, you are each hereby accused of mismanaging the accounts.”

Sigberht's scowl only deepened, while Walther's mouth went slack. Milo approached the dais. “My lady, please.” I raised my hand, and he stepped back.

“However, due to the nature of the losses, it is impossible to lay the blame on anyone present.”

Milo's and Walther's faces regained some of their color.

“While I cannot prove who has committed the crime, someone has been stealing from Wedmore, and it is imperative that we all work together to ensure this does not continue.”

Milo and Walther rushed up to me, grabbed my hands, and knelt on the ground.

“Thank you, my lady.” Milo bowed his head.

“Yes, thank you, m'lady,” Walther echoed. Both men looked up, and their eyes shone, their faces glowing with a relief only those skirting possible execution could know.

I nodded to Leofric, who escorted them back to their positions. Sigberht's eyebrow crested his forehead.

“I am not finished.”

I could feel the thrum through the crowd. Anticipation buzzed until the energy in the hall near prickled with it.

“Given that you have all been remiss in your responsibilities, I have no choice but to revoke your privileges as esteemed members of this court and suspend your duties until further notice.”

Sigberht lunged. “You have no right.”

Leofric positioned himself in front of Sigberht.

“Would you like to make a statement, Sigberht, before I suspend your duties?” I sat back and waited.

“Milo purchased a cow this year, and Walther bought a fine new sword for his son. How did they afford such luxuries? Your guilty party stands before you.” He waved in their direction. “If your father were here, he would have them killed.” He laid a hand on his sword, and his voice dropped, laced with venom. “If you haven't the stomach for the job, step aside. Your weakness is a disservice to this estate and a disgrace to your father's good name.”

The villagers tittered, and for a moment, I sat speechless, his contempt and disrespect disarming me of a response.

Milo rushed forward. “My lady, Father Plegmund will swear to our arrangement. Walther and I have been assisting the monastery at Glastonbury with their inventories. The cow was a gift in exchange for my services, and Walther received the sword for his son from the Abbot Herefirth himself.”

Father Plegmund stood. “It is true, my lady.”

I nodded, sufficiently recovered to find my voice. “Your accusations are refuted, Sigberht, and as overseer of the accounts, you have been found negligent. My verdict stands.” I watched his jaw clench. My gaze locked with his. “In addition to the suspension of your duties, you are hereby charged six hundred silver shillings. Your disrespect for me will not be tolerated. Leofric, escort him from my hall.”

The hall erupted as Sigberht was forcibly removed. The wergild was usually reserved for matters of injury to person, like death. In forcing Sigberht to pay for an insult, I was setting a new precedent. The charge was equivalent to six hundred sheep or twenty cows.

I turned to Eata, whose job as butler was to ensure the adequate libation of all present. “Inform the kitchen to serve the feast. Make sure everyone here has a cup filled with mead.”

I stood and smiled, shaking hands with those who approached me, and gratefully accepted their praise.

Bertram moved to my side and surveyed the crowd. “Quite the spectacle.”

I grimaced. The proceedings hadn't gone quite as planned. Sigberht's disrespect rubbed like a goat's-hair tunic, but I wondered if perhaps I had overreacted. Surely, I needed to set an example, to prove I was in charge, that my authority was not to be questioned.

Bertram seemed to sense my doubt. “You did well today. Your father will be proud.”

Gods, I hoped so. “Will you accept the title of reeve?”

He rubbed his beard, considering. “That is a lot to take on.”

“What if Leofric assists you? I need someone I can trust in this position.”

He nodded. “Very well.” He accepted a horn of mead from one of the servants. “Who will you find to replace Milo and Walther?”

That was trickier. “Eata is shrewd and keen to earn my favor.” He had done a thorough job of measuring the boundary lines with Sigberht, and, like Milo and Walther, he had been involved in the manor since the days of my grandfather. “If I find a young man to assist him, they might manage until my father returns. Milo and Walther could continue in an advisory role.” I sighed. “In my heart I believe they are innocent.”

“And what does your heart tell you of Sigberht's innocence?”

“Given his desire to silence Milo and Walther by cutting out their tongues, he might have been trying to keep the thefts hidden. Unfortunately, I have no proof.” If Sigberht was capable of such an act, what was to stop him from threatening them further, demanding their silence? The discrepancies might never have been discovered.

The more I thought about it, the less I trusted the man. “Regardless, I want him as far away from Wedmore as possible. Leofric has assigned someone to escort him to Kent, where he can await word from my father. I can only hope that the time away softens his disposition, rather than strengthens his resolve.” Little pinpricks of cold swept across my neck, and I shivered. Retribution, I feared, would be swift and brutal.

*   *   *

The next morning, I left Bertram in charge of the manor, and Leofric and I rode for Bath. After my experience with the old woman and her harrowing judgment of my character, calling me willful and reckless, I thought perhaps a pair of strong hands on the road might be prudent. I would dismiss him when I reached Bath and return home with one of Ealhswith's guards instead, decreasing any chance of someone keeping tabs on me while I was there.

A royal village, Bath was quite large, boasting more than four hundred souls, including a thriving monastic community. Lying just north of the River Avon, it was surrounded by lush farmland, worked by bondsmen and their families who were charged with ensuring the royal manor's considerable demands were always met.

Markets were held frequently, and trade goods from all over the continent found their way into prosperous hands. A water mill was in use at all times to grind flour, and bakers churned out fresh bread for the manor and villagers who could afford it.

We were met outside the city's large earthen rampart by one of Ealhswith's guards and escorted to the royal manor near the southwest edge of the village. Once we were inside the walls of the manor grounds, our horses were whisked off to the stables, and I parted company with Leofric, instructing him to return home on the morrow after he was sufficiently rested and fed.

The manor was in a flurry of activity, and the lady in the center of the upheaval stood holding one hand against her lower back, while her other reached out to take mine.