Avelynn (7 page)

Once the toasting was completed, servants streamed in with plates of delicacies. The first course was an assortment of vegetables, including carrots, beans, and burdock flavored with imported ginger and wrapped in thin pastry. Next followed skewers of beef and pork spiced with pepper.

We had sweet courses of figs and grapes, honey and almond cakes, and apple-sloe purée served over cheesecake. From land and sea, we were served oysters, mussels, and lobster in a rich butter sauce; filets of trout and perch; and a pottage of roasted duck and vegetables. There were soft cheeses and bread and a collection of boiled eggs in a nest of shredded cabbage. A cooked plover—plumage reapplied—sat in the center.

Wine, ale, and mead flowed continuously. While I did a valiant job, I was only nibbling a taste of each offering after the fourth course. Demas and my father, however, did not hold back in the least. I couldn't tell how Aethelwulf's wife, Cyneburga, was making out, but Aethelwulf's hand kept reaching out for more as platters were brought past the table.

Conversation was at first limited to oohs and ahs—remarkably quiet for a gathering of a hundred people—but as the drink continued to flow, the conversations grew louder and more boisterous, and arms and hands gesticulated copiously.

After the first few courses, I tried to engage Demas in conversation. He sat with his back to me, his attention focused on whatever my father was saying.

Spying a page carrying a tray of honey cakes, I gestured him closer and grabbed two of the sticky treats. I placed one of the sweets on Demas's trencher.

He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned.

“How did you find the hunt?” I asked him.

“Well.”

“Did you get a chance to speak with the king?”

“Your father introduced me, yes.” His body was still turned away from me.

“Did you have hunts in Rome?”

“No.”

My father looked in our direction and smiled his approval of our engaging discourse.

I frowned.

“Is that all?” he asked.

“No.”

It was his turn to frown.

“Is there any particular reason you're ignoring me?”

“Your father is more interesting.” A twitch at the corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk.

“I am to be your wife, not him.”

“Wives are meant to be silent and obedient. A lesson you would be wise to learn.” He laid a hand on his belt and turned back to my father.

I prodded him on the shoulder. “Are you threatening me?” My voice dropped to a hissing whisper. The man's audacity knew no bounds.

“I am merely reminding you of your place.” He looked around. “Though perhaps we could continue this conversation later.”

I followed his gaze. King Aethelred was watching us. I bit my tongue and bowed my head. He nodded and turned his attention to Alfred.

Sufficiently silenced, I vowed to confront Demas after the feast. If he thought he could speak to me, or treat me in such a dismissive manner, he was gravely mistaken. I was beginning to have my doubts as to whether or not the vision had anything to do with his pompous ass.

Unable to address the issue for the moment, I distracted myself, and my temper, by gazing around the room. Placated with liberal amounts of alcohol, everyone else seemed to be having a good time. Even Bishop Ealhferth's smile was jubilant. His paunch bulged under his long white alb, the fringed edges of his stole lying almost flat on the convex of his stomach. Ealhswith would occasionally catch my eye and gesture to Demas, but I shook my head, earning a reproving glower in response.

When the procession of foodstuffs was completed, the stage was set for our entertainment. Jesters and actors caroused and cajoled with great comedy, enacting skits of romantic mishaps and calamity, or juggling and dropping balls, sticks, and rings. Musicians proffered bagpipes, trumpets, flutes, and drums, and entertainers jumped and tumbled through the open space. Finally, the gleeman appeared with his lyre, while the scop settled himself on his stool, ready to enthrall the crowd with his esteemed storytelling.

It was always the same. Each story portrayed a brave and virtuous man who vanquished his enemies with skill and valor. He was able to do all this because he possessed the highest caliber of virtues and values of any man in the land, earning God's favor in all actions. The names, places, and dates were different, of course, customized to each wealthy benefactor, but the plotline was generally the same. In this instance, the stories praised our mighty king, Aethelred.

After the unapologetic adulation, the scop broke into well-known songs and poems of love, loss, and daring. By the time he finished, the entire hall sang along with him. A great cheer erupted when he finally bowed in closing.

With the celebrations winding down, we all headed back into the Minster for mass. Fortunately, the amount of wine Ealhferth had consumed softened his disposition. So, rather than dispense his usual threatening rhetoric, he was instead disposed to describe the beneficence of the Lord, recounting His loving, helpful ways and the manner in which we all could show Him our eternal love and gratitude. It was a much gentler mass and—thank the loving, kind, beneficent God—a much briefer one too.

The mass ended, and the men returned to the hall to continue the celebrations where they'd left off. Only this time, the plentiful drink was to be augmented with games of strategy, dice, and heavy gambling. The women were to bypass these baser aspects of the feast and, without much ado, were ushered to the guest building to pass the remainder of the evening in innocent slumber. I, however, was not willing to lay things to bed for the night.

I marched up to Demas, whose lips were miraculously not attached to my father's ass, and pulled hard on his shoulder. “A word, sir.”

He looked at me and frowned. “Walk with me a moment.”

I matched his pace, walking in silence until we were out of earshot of any other soul. Torches flickered around the manor, and he stopped just within the reach of their pale light.

“I had hoped to spare you this discomfort, but your insistence has made that impossible.” He pulled his cloak tightly around his shoulders. “I sought marriage with you because it is what my uncle wanted. He felt our marriage would make a strong and powerful alliance. With the land bequeathed to you after your father's death, and the land I now hold, you would be one of the most powerful women in Wessex. You would oversee all responsibilities of the manor, its servants and its function. But,” he said, glaring down at me, “you would be wise to remember your place. Your father has done you a great disservice by allowing you such a long lead. I will not tolerate your disrespect or your willfulness. You are to speak only when spoken to and do as you are bid.”

Metallic heat burned in my cheeks, and I drew in a slow, steady breath. “I will not be treated like a slave. There are men here tonight who would give me their very heart and soul if I agreed to marry them. Why should I settle for less?”

“Those men you speak of, lady, tried to woo you, and look where it got them.” He patted my head absently. “I'm not here to fill your mind with fanciful illusions. I'm here to make a profitable transaction. You can either accept my suit graciously, and with it a place of extravagance and enviable nobility, or content yourself with taking slop out to my pigs.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“You won't have a choice.”

He turned to walk away, but hesitated and looked back. “After hearing tales of your capriciousness, I thought it was you who I needed to woo, but I quickly realized I was pursuing the wrong person.” He smiled. “I pledged my allegiance to the master who truly controls your strings, little puppet, and whether you like it or not, your father will see us married.”

 

SIX

Riding with a handful of my father's thegns and several pages, we made our way home, the Christmas festivities and Winchester a half day's ride behind us. I had asked Wulfric to maintain a pace several lengths behind so I could speak to my father alone.

“He's using me,” I cried. “He'll toss me aside and steal your title and wealth.”

“He will have a hard time at it, since I am still very much alive and breathing.” My father looked sourly at me. His breath, plentiful and vigorous, puffed into great clouds of white in the frigid air.

“I beg you, release me from this betrothal.”

“My decision is final.”

“You're casting me into the lion's den, to be ravaged and ripped apart. Nothing will be left of me when he's finished taking what he wants.”

“You are overreacting.”

“No, I'm not. He's rude and arrogant. He threatened me.”

“I saw the two of you speaking at the feast. He was nothing if not courteous and charming.”

“Around you he is the shining, dutiful hero, but with me, he is the Devil incarnate. You've wronged me, Father, insisting on this farce of a marriage.”

“Enough. You will marry Demas during the harvest festival and not revisit this conversation again. If you so much as mention it in my hearing, I will send you to Glastonbury to spend the next eight months of your betrothal in pious contemplation with the nuns. Am I understood?”

I gritted my teeth and nodded. I wanted to scream. He had raised me as equal to Edward, led me to believe there was nothing I could not accomplish, nothing I could not do. He molded me, instructed me, allowed me to entertain the fanciful idea that one day I, his daughter and eldest child, would take over the running of the estate. My mother had encouraged it, fostered it, and my father had agreed. He seemed to take great pride in my ability to read and write, in my sense of fairness and reason. But it was all a lie. He never had any intention of giving me the responsibility, the chance. That more than anything else hurt beyond all measure.

*   *   *

I spent the next few months dallying on long rides through the frozen countryside, visiting various cottages, doing whatever I could to help some of the poorer peasants make it through the harshest part of winter, anything to avoid the silence. My father and I were no longer on speaking terms. When I did see him, I turned and walked the other way. He never visited my cottage, nor did he send word to join him in the hall. It was a very lonely, dark, cold winter. And even with the arrival of warm March breezes and the new planting season, my bitterness did not melt.

Of course, the exasperating fire might have had something to do with that. I looked cantankerously at the hearth. Nelda had gone home to help her sister with the birth of her child, leaving me to my own devices, which suited my melancholy just fine but was rather inconvenient when I needed domestic assistance.

I tried to coax the fire to light and ran the jagged steel edge of the fire starter across my finger. “Damn.” I pulled my hand back, dropping the flint as the sting hissed and the blood swelled. I staunched the flow with the hem of my dress and squeezed, my eyes filling as I stared at the unlit tinder. I brushed the moisture away irritably and slumped into a heap on the rush-covered floor.

“Why is this happening to me?” I yelled at the Goddess. I had long ago thrown out any notions that my vision at Avalon had been positive. Instead, I fortified myself for impending doom. I flung the steel fire starter toward my bed. “Why are you angry with me? Have I offended you in some way?” I looked up at the thatch, tarnished gray and black from years of smoky fires. “Do you even see me? Do you even know I'm here? I've sent prayers, and pleas, but nothing has changed. Why aren't you listening?”

Nothing stirred in the stagnant air around me. I sank my head into my hands. Nothing I did worked. I was still miserable—my father still adamant.

I missed my mother. I sniffed hard and stood up. I brushed the rushes from the folds of my kirtle, found the well-worn groove in the floor, and commenced pacing back and forth. The vernal equinox was fast approaching. Perhaps the Goddess was angry that I had only given her a cursory thought during the winter solstice. Traveling with my father's thegns to Winchester at Christmastide, my opportunities for worship had been limited. But my mother had always found a way to honor the sacred days. I would make it up to the Goddess this month. I wouldn't let my responsibilities slide further.

There was a soft knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Bertram entered, carrying a folded piece of parchment. “Good morning, Avelynn. How are you feeling today?”

“Fine.”

He lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Good, then you should be overjoyed to hear this news.” He placed the parchment on a bench, walked over to the hearth, and knelt down, taking up my efforts to rouse the fire.

Very few people in Wessex, other than a handful of priests who acted as scribes for kings and noblemen, were gifted with literacy. Bertram was an accomplished scholar, and as his avid student, I took in everything he offered. I could read and write Latin, English, and Ogham letters and was fluent in Gaelic, Latin, French, Norse, and English. The advantage this afforded was not lost to me. Knowledge was power. And as a woman, possession of that knowledge provided me with a tremendous advantage over most of the noblemen in England. Even the king of Wessex was still trying to learn Latin himself.

I picked up the note. It was a royal decree from King Aethelred, ordering my father to gather men and travel to Rome to pay the church's tribute—a godly sum of gold and silver. Nothing like paying the pope to earn God's clemency.

“I don't understand. Why now?” Tribute was to be paid every year, and the king's most trusted thegns took turns transporting the precious cargo. But it had been several years since anyone had made that arduous journey.

“The Vikings have been silent. And fearing for his soul, Aethelred will delay the trip no longer.” He gave a final flick of his wrist and a spark flew, landing on the tinder nest. The kindling caught. Tentative flames licked the air and Bertram blew softly until the fire surged. Satisfied, he placed a large log on the hearth and raked the burning kindling toward it. “I thought you might like to know that Demas, with his intimate knowledge of the Eternal City, will be joining your father's party. They plan to leave in two days' time.”