Avelynn (26 page)

Muirgen's admission caused another round of gasps and murmurs. My stomach churned, as if wrung inside out. I hadn't planned on ceding that much information.

“Is this true?” Aldulf looked to me.

I nodded.

Aldulf produced the Book of the Gospels. “Do you swear it by all that is holy? By God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost?”

I placed my hand on the book. “I do so swear.”

He repeated the same oath to Muirgen and she, too, swore on the Christian book. Watching her act so serene and righteous, I would have laughed if this hadn't been so serious.

*   *   *

The next few days passed with each of us calling members of the community forward who would swear to our character. Alfred and Ealhswith stood up for me, as did each of the warriors left behind to guard Wedmore. Bertram, Plegmund—even Milo and Walther vouched for my virtues.

Breaking his exile, Sigberht stood up for Demas, painting a picture of my headstrong ambitions in matters best left for men, and my constant refusal—supported by Nelda, my chambermaid's, testimony—to get married.

I didn't know what they had threatened the girl with, but she refused to meet my eyes and cowered limply beside Sigberht.

After Sigberht, the man I had seen in the altercation with Demas addressed the Witan. “Osric, Earl of Dorset, stands for Demas of Wareham. The charges are false and seditious.”

I stared at Osric. So this was my uncle? I had never seen him before. He had never been to any of the Christmas feasts, and he certainly would not have been invited to any of our family gatherings or celebrations. I could only assume that he was here because my father was not. He returned to his place, sitting at a table opposite the king.

After what I witnessed in the weaving shed, I was more than a little surprised when he stood for Demas's character. In fact, Demas had the support of several powerful earls. I couldn't fathom how he had managed to earn the favor of so many influential men in such a short period of time in England. I suspected it had everything to do with my uncle. There was a clear division at this tribunal between the men who supported the Earl of Somerset, and by virtue his daughter, and those who supported the Earl of Dorset and his interests, whatever they might be.

It soon became clear, however, that it was a matter of his word against mine, and since we both had the backing of some very powerful people in Wessex, the Witan was at an impasse.

I had hoped for a firm, decisive solution to the matter, for everything to be settled by a vote. My victory rested on being able to provide Muirgen as witness to the event. But Demas supplied his own alibis, and, through deceit, managed to throw my account into question. Unless I was able to produce the young man implied in the charge, I had no proof.

“The matter will be determined by a trial of boiling water,” Aldulf said.

Pages scurried to and fro, and the central fire was stoked hot and glowing. A large cauldron was placed over the fire, and water was poured to a depth fitting of the crime. In this case, it was filled near to the top. A piece of iron was placed at the bottom of the cauldron. Once the water began to boil, everyone was asked to leave the hall save those directly involved—except of course the king, who remained seated. The rest of us stood in a circle around the cauldron. We were allowed to retain one witness. My uncle stood up for Demas; Muirgen stayed with me. The only other persons in the hall were two members of the clergy—Aldulf, who would preside over the trial, and Ealhferth, the Bishop of Winchester, who would assist if necessary.

“You have the right to assign a deputy,” Aldulf said to Demas.

“I will prove my innocence with my own flesh,” Demas answered.

“Very well.” Aldulf sprinkled everyone with holy water until we were satisfactorily doused, and had us each in turn kiss the Book of the Gospels and a large wooden cross.

“Bend your heads silently in prayer and ask the Father to reveal to us the truth in this grave matter.”

To a pagan, Christian rhetoric and symbolism were nothing more than mist in the wind. They held no substance, no tangibility. But if this pageant was to continue much longer, I was worried Muirgen might say something aloud. I could tell from the rigid set of her shoulders that the archbishop was trying her patience.

Aldulf began a long, steady chant in Latin, singing the litany—a repetitive petition to our lord God.

Muirgen looked at me, her lips set in a grim line. I pleaded with my eyes. She nodded and looked heavenward, her eyes large and reverent.

Demas was to reach into the cauldron of boiling water and pull out the iron. The priests would then bandage his wounds. In three days, if his arm festered, he would be found guilty. If the wounds were clean and healing, then he would be proved innocent by the grace of God. I had taken a huge risk with this ordeal. If the marriage proceeded, I was lost.

Aldulf stopped his droning and gestured to Demas. “Please remove your shirt.”

“That is not necessary.” Osric laid his hand on Demas's shoulder. “He can merely lift his sleeve.”

“The law states that the accused must bear his heart before God. The shirt must be removed.”

Demas looked at Osric, who huffed but nodded.

What a bizarre exchange.
The man was about to stick his entire arm in a vat of boiling water, and they were concerned about the removal of a shirt?

Demas undid his belt, handing it to Osric, and then lifted the tunic over his head. I inhaled sharply. There on Demas's chest, from nipple to umbilicus, was a birthmark, thick and garnet red, just like the one Muirgen had described when speaking about my cousin, the babe who was never found. Osric's son! I glanced at Muirgen, who stood rod stiff with a blank expression. When I turned back to Demas, both he and Osric were watching me, their faces unreadable. Oh gods, did they know I knew? I lowered my eyes in an act of humility, trying to play the role of virgin as Muirgen had once suggested. This seemed to please Aldulf.

“Not a sight for an innocent,” he said to me. “You may keep your eyes averted. When you are ready, Demas, you may proceed.”

A loud bang reverberated through the hall as the main doors slammed heavily. We all turned. My father bounded up the stairs.

My heart at once leapt for joy at the sight of him, and then dropped liked the iron bar at the bottom of the cauldron. His eyes blazed hotter than the central fire, and he was headed straight for me. Instinctively, I stepped back.

Aldulf stepped between us, partly obscuring the force of his rage. “Lord Eanwulf, we are in the middle of a trial. I request you wait outside.”

“I will not.” His face was red from the cold. He was dressed in full mail, and his helmet was dented and tarnished.

“You will give me a moment with my daughter, priest.”

Aldulf deferred to Aethelred, who had moved to stand beside the archbishop.

“It is good to see you returned to us, Lord Eanwulf, but this is a formal trial. You cannot intervene. As your king, I demand you do as the archbishop requests and step outside.”

My father turned to Aethelred as if seeing him for the first time. He blinked, and an expression of careful control shifted his features.

“My king.” He bowed slightly. “I bring news.”

Aethelred looked at him curiously. “Yes?”

“The Heathen Army has crossed into Wessex.”

*   *   *

I was segregated from the other female guests sleeping in the women's quarters and squirreled away in one of the small guest cottages. It boasted a raised shelf against the far wall for sleeping and a small trestle table nestled between two benches. A raised-slab hearth in the center of the packed-earth floor served as the only source of heat and light. The lime-washed wattle-and-daub walls did little to keep out the frigid December cold.

Muirgen had informed Ealhswith of the situation thus far, and the two of them sat across from me, pity and concern written in their eyes.

To all but the women in front of me, I was a pariah—ambition and vanity raising me too high. God would see me harshly punished. Most hoped my new husband would beat me into submission, or in lieu of that, they expected my father to do it. Regardless, the Witan had moved on to more pressing matters, and the charges against Demas had been thrown out. I had lost, my life forfeit.

My only ray of sunshine was seeing my brother's face. While thin and pale, he was here—home, alive, and well. I hugged him briefly, aware of each rib beneath his tunic. He smiled, but his eyes were distant, and his face wore a look of heavy weariness. I learned that the monastery at St. Denis had come under attack by Vikings during his time there, and I desperately wanted to speak with him, but I didn't have time. My father demanded his presence at council.

All of the men were holed up in the hall, discussing the news my father had brought. Despite the implications of imminent war, the archbishop was adamant that the Nativity still be celebrated, and he instructed Wulfrida to continue with her preparations. The Christmas feast would start tomorrow.

Ealhswith brought my attention back to the present moment. “Marriage between two cousins is forbidden by the Church. Surely they will grant you a release now.”

I rested my head in my hands. “And how do I prove he's my cousin? Muirgen is my only witness, and we know how well that tactic works.” I didn't even have the energy to cry. “Why does this marriage mean so much to him?”

“It's obvious,” Muirgen said.

It certainly wasn't obvious to me.

“Your uncle's using Demas as his pawn.”

“I don't understand.”

“When your grandfather's will divided the earldom, your uncle's greed and ambition caused a bloody and vicious civil war. While he's been quiet these last years, it's clear his lust for power has not been tempered. With your marriage to his son, Osric will be one step closer to ruling both earldoms in all but name. If something were to happen to your father, Osric would become the most powerful man in Wessex, save the king himself.”

Ealhswith's mouth hung open. “But Demas cannot claim to be Osric's son, or the marriage won't take place.”

“I suspect he'll wait until the marriage is signed, delivered, and consummated before he reveals his true parentage.”

“And what of his claim to be the lady Mildrith's son, Bishop Ealhstan's nephew?” Ealhswith asked.

“A lie.”

Ealhswith laid her hand on my shoulder. “You must leave.”

“And go where?”

“Francia?”

“And what is a disgraced lady to do in Francia? Prostitute myself for my bread and water? I might as well stay here and do that at my husband's court.”

“It won't come to that, yet,” Muirgen said. “The war you foresaw is upon us.”

“What have you seen?” Ealhswith asked.

“Remember when I mentioned I'd had a vision and agreed to give Demas another chance?” I cringed.

“Yes.”

“Well, I misinterpreted the signs.”

“I gathered that.”

“I saw a raven and a wild boar. They were fighting each other. At the time, I was looking for something, anything, other than the struggle and pain the vision portended. In the end, I realized Demas would be the cause of that suffering, and everything I've done—resisting his betrothal, charging him at the tribunal—has been in an effort to escape my fate. However, there was much more to that vision than could be gleaned at first glance; an entire manuscript was written in a passing moment. The meaning behind the animals fighting is obvious now. War
is
coming.”

“But you saw more,” Muirgen said.

“Not on the same day, but later in a dream. I fell through the sky, surrounded by ravens. Battle raged beneath me. Men were dying, their bloodied bodies littering the snow-covered fields, turning the ground into a rusty sludge. Their cries were horrible.” I shivered. “I was falling and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I was going to die.” The last words came out in a whisper.

“That's nothing but a nightmare brought on by Mari, the sorceress of dreams, to frighten you,” Ealhswith said.

“While my part in the coming violence is elusive, these visions have come to warn me that I will be affected by it in tragic ways.”

“Ealhswith is right, Avelynn. The war has been foretold, but your part in it has yet to be written.”

I gave Muirgen a droll look. “You are far too wise to believe that.”

The door to the cottage flew open, and my father stepped inside, his hulking frame taking up the entire doorway.

“You,
wyrt-gaelstre
.” He scowled at Muirgen.

“Hello, Eanwulf.”

“You have placed these ideas in her head.” He slammed the door and stalked closer.

“You need to hear what your daughter has to say.” Muirgen stepped in front of him. She barely came to the middle of his chest. “You would be wise to listen.”

Something passed between the two of them—a flicker, an unspoken current. He glared at Ealhswith.

“I should go. Aethelflaed will be needing me.” Ealhswith grabbed her cloak and maneuvered around the standoff, casting me a look of sympathy before slipping out the door.

I turned to face the wrath of my father.

 

SEVENTEEN

My father may have taken off his mail coat and helmet, but he was ready for war. “You have shamed me.”

“You don't understand—”

“You stood in front of the most powerful men in Wessex and spewed lies, all to disobey my wishes.” He pulled off his belt. “By God, your new husband will beat you senseless for this, but he will have to wait his turn.”

“You will not touch her,” Muirgen said.

“Stay out of this,
wyrt-gaelstre
.”

“I will not.”

“Move out of my way, or I will knock you down where you stand.” He raised his hand as if to strike her.