Enchantress Mine (10 page)

In his excitement at having a pupil who constantly asked him questions, who challenged answers that didn’t suit her, and who in six months had learned everything that he had struggled over the last five years to teach Brand, Brother Bayhard added history to their program of studies. He quickly forgot all his previous beliefs regarding the minds of women. He was willing to admit that he had been wrong if only he might continue to teach this marvelous young mind of Mairin’s.

Brand gratefully left the schoolroom at twelve, Aldwine accepting the fact that his son was no scholar. He was satisfied that the boy could read enough to understand any document that might come his way, sign his name legibly, speak the tongue of the Normans decently, and comprehend enough mathematics to know he wasn’t being cheated. Brother Bayhard, however, remained to continue the education of the daughter of the house.

Eada protested Mairin’s hours in the schoolroom. “You are wasting her time, my lord. She needs none of the skills you are having her taught.”

Aldwine stubbornly shook his head. “We do not know what she will need,” he said to his wife. “Besides, Mairin is a child who must be kept at challenging things. Surely you have noticed she grows restless when bored. Left to herself, my love, who knows what mischief she might get into.”

Eada secretly agreed with his assessment, but she nonetheless pressed her own case. “Mairin needs to know how to cook, and supervise the serfs, and tend the kitchen garden. She must know how to salt meats and fish, how to preserve and dry fruits for winter, how to make soap, conserves, and candles. She needs practical skills to be a good wife.”

“You will teach them to her,” he said agreeably, “but she will also know the things I wish her to know. I want a fine marriage for our daughter, Eada. Mairin is not for some Saxon boy. Her beauty will gain her an important match, but when that beauty fades as does all beauty, she will hold her husband with her clever mind.” He kissed his wife reassuringly and gave her a pat. “The times are changing, and it is Mairin and Brand’s generation who will bear the brunt of that change.”

“A Norman king is what you mean,” said Eada wisely. “Oh, Aldwine, I know you have Norman blood in you, but why has King Edward chosen Duke William for his heir?”

“Who else is there?” replied her husband. “The king himself is half Norman and has no children of his own.”

“But William the Bastard?”

“Would you have Harold Godwinson, that spawn of the devil himself, to rule England?” he asked her angrily. “Or perhaps another Dane or Norwegian?”

“There is Edgar Atheling,” Eada ventured. “He is of the line of Cedric.”

“Yes,” Aldwine agreed, “but he is a weak boy. He has lived most of his life in Hungary. What can he really know of England and her people? England needs a strong king if she is to survive the coming years, and William of Normandy is that king. There is no other logical choice, and King Edward having seen it wisely designated William as his heir. He will be king, Eada. Make no mistake about it. It has been promised him, and he will have it. Those who oppose Duke William will suffer the consequences of his wrath. That is why I prepare Mairin for a Norman marriage. The Norman women may not be as free as our Anglo-Saxon women, but their men like them with wit and intelligence as well as household skills.”

“My mother taught me that men did not like women who were mannish, my lord.”

Aldwine laughed heartily. “There is nothing including a little knowledge that will ever make our Mairin appear masculine for she is the most feminine of creatures. She will soon surpass your talents at the loom, my dear, which is no mean feat, and her embroidery is excellent thanks to your clever tutelage.”

Eada bloomed beneath his compliments. She was a simple, loving woman. In her entire life she had never been further than twenty miles from the house in which she had been born. Her entire life and world consisted of family and familial duties, first in her father’s house, and then in her husband’s. Housewifery was her talent, and she was justly proud of her skills. For Aldwine to praise those skills, and those of their foster daughter, was high acclaim.

Aldwine was correct in his observations of Mairin. She was as swift to boredom as she was to the pursuit of knowledge. She was nothing at all like Edyth who had been a sweet and placid girl, nor did she even try to be, which was perhaps what made it so easy for them to accept her. Eada smiled to herself. Mairin was clever at the loom. The cloth she was currently weaving was intertwined with delicate strands of gold and silver threads. It was work of the finest quality, but once having mastered the technique, Mairin became weary of it. Perhaps, thought Eada on reflection, her husband was right in having Mairin study with Brand. Eada had never known a woman who enjoyed learning, but Mairin certainly did.

If Mairin had been a happy addition to Aelfleah, so too was Dagda. His skill with horses assured his usefulness, for none of the serfs had quite his knowledge. His good nature assured he would never be lonely, for the women were drawn to Dagda like flies to manure and he adored them all, never playing favorites, and somehow managing to get away with it. The women of Aelfleah understood that Dagda’s love and loyalty belonged to Mairin.

Eada could see that it was not easy for the Irishman to relinquish his authority and control over Mairin who had been his charge since her birth, but for the child’s sake he had tried his best. Eada, sensing the deep love between the two, deferred to the gentle giant as often as she might.

Aldwine Athelsbeorn was a careful man where Mairin’s status was concerned. In exchange for some future service to the king he had obtained from Edward a writ acknowledging Mairin as his and Eada’s daughter, with all the rights and privileges thereof. She would be dowered generously. In the unlikely event of Brand’s death and the absence of other heirs of his and Eada’s body, Mairin would inherit the manor of Aelfleah.

Brand was now sixteen years old, and at slightly over six feet in height, he was powerfully strong. In the past two years he had developed a healthy appetite for women and with his handsome face and merry manner his advances were rarely refused.

Eada began to worry that it would soon be time to settle her son with a wife. They would have to go bride hunting, despite the fact that they were so isolated in their little valley without any near neighbors. Eada considered the possibility of visiting her family after all these years. “My brothers have daughters,” she said. “Perhaps one would be suitable for our son.”

Brand rolled his eyes in anguish which sent his twelve-year-old sister into a fit of giggles. Reaching out he teasingly tweaked one of her braids, and she stuck her tongue out at him. He grinned back at Mairin and said, “Actually I’d like to go over the western hills into Cymru and steal a wild Welsh wench for a wife. A little new blood might be just the thing this family needs.”

“Brand!” Eada was shocked, but both Aldwine and Mairin burst into laughter, realizing that Brand was but teasing his mother.

The search for Brand’s bride had to be postponed, however, for the king requested of Aldwine Athelsbeorn the favor owed to him. When he returned from Winchester the thegn brought news that both startled and frightened his wife.

His children, of course, were far more interested in the gifts he had brought them. Laughing at their greed, for even Brand still enjoyed receiving gifts, Aldwine presented them. For his son he had brought a dagger whose blade had been made in Moorish Spain. The handle of the dagger, however, was fine Celtic enamelwork. Brand’s eyes lit at the sight of the weapon, and he thanked his father profusely. For Mairin there was a string of amethyst beads, “to match your eyes, sweeting,” said her father as she hugged him.

“And have you forgotten me, my lord?” Eada teased her husband.

“No,” he said slowly, “I have not. Are you not first in my heart, lady?” He handed her a small bolt of scarlet silk with stripes of pure gold woven into the fabric. As her mouth opened in exclamation he continued, “It comes from Byzantium where I must shortly go. I have been chosen by the king to lead a delegation to discuss new trading treaties between our two nations.”

“Byzantium?” It was only a name to Eada, a fabled and faraway place her husband had once visited in his youth. She had no idea of where it really was. “Is it far, my lord? How long will you be gone?” she innocently queried him.

Aldwine Athelsbeorn put an arm about his wife’s shoulders. “It is very far, my love,” he said, “and
we
will be gone for as long as it takes to negotiate the treaties for the king. I intend to take you and Mairin with me.”

“Ohh, father!” Mairin began to dance about the solar. “We are to go with you! How wonderful! How exciting! Will we actually get to see the Emperor of Byzantium himself? May I have a new gown for the trip? Can I take my horse, my merlin, and my dog?”

Aldwine laughed. “Yes, Mairin, you will probably get to meet the emperor, you may have several new gowns, and yes, you may take your horse. Your dog and your hawk, however, must remain here at Aelfleah.”

For Mairin the opportunity of traveling to an exotic place was irresistible. Eada’s face showed concern. She understood things that Mairin did not. The king was not in good health. The succession was already being haggled over despite the fact that Edward had designated his cousin, Duke William of Normandy, as his successor.

The queen wanted her brother, Harold Godwinson, to be England’s next ruler, and worked constantly toward that goal. There was no royal blood in the queen’s family. Her father, the late Earl Godwin, had forced her into marriage with the king, though he could not force Edward into his daughter’s bed. Edward, who held Earl Godwin responsible for his elder brother’s death, had not desired a wife at all. At one point he had even put the queen aside. A deeply religious man, he was more suited to the life of a monk. Indeed the royal couple’s lack of children gave truth to the rumor that the marriage had never been consummated.

Norway’s king also claimed sovereignty over England and he had a powerful army supporting him though his ambition was rooted in greed, not fact. If Edward died while they were gone from England war was certain to break out. What would happen to Aelfleah and its people? Then Aldwine answered her unspoken question, and Eada’s blood ran like ice in her veins.

“Brand will remain in England to oversee our lands. Had I the choice, I should not leave England at all, but I cannot refuse the king.”

Sweet Blessed Mother! thought Eada. If Edward dies while we are away chaos will follow. How can our son, a boy yet for all his wenching, hold Aelfleah against Harold Godwinson, Norway, and Duke William? She was certain that Aldwine could not possibly go to Byzantium at this time!

“Brand will never become a man unless we let him, Eada,” Aldwine said, reading her thoughts. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle the cry as he turned to their son. “I cannot let you take a wife at this time. The less worry you have the more your mind will be on Aelfleah. Its people, its prosperity, and its safety will be your responsibility. It is all in your keeping until I return home.”

“I understand, father,” said Brand, and suddenly Mairin thought her brother seemed older. “I welcome the opportunity to wench a bit more before I must settle down,” he teased them. His generous mouth was turned up in a smile as he spoke, but his blue eyes were serious and thoughtful. He fully understood his duty, and the responsibility his father was placing into his hands. His entire life had been geared to the moment when Aelfleah would become his. Even if this was but a temporary thing he proudly accepted it, and looked forward to proving his worth to his father. “I will keep you fully informed, my lord,” he said gravely.

“Indeed,” his father agreed, “you will. Now, my son, you know the special white pigeons that are kept in the dovecote?”

“The ones with the black markings, my lord?”

“Aye,” answered Aldwine. “Those birds, Brand, belong to my friend Timon Theocrates, a wealthy merchant in Constantinople. I possess six of his birds in my cote. He maintains six of our birds at his home in Constantinople. I intend to take another six of my birds with me when we depart. They are special birds, Brand, which have been taught to carry message capsules on their legs. They can bring important news far quicker than a man on horseback.

“I suspected that the king would send a delegation to Byzantium. On the rare occasions that I have gone to court to pay Edward my respects he has questioned me closely on that empire. I did not expect, however, to head our delegation. It is true that my knowledge of Byzantium is better than any of our countrymen’s. In my youth I traveled widely, and the city of Constantinople was my home for over two years.

“During that time Timon Theocrates and I became close friends. That friendship has endured despite the fact that we have not seen each other in almost fifteen years. You will not remember it, of course, but Timon came to England when you were still a baby. It was then that we exchanged pigeons. They are an ancient and fairly safe way to send messages over long distances. It is rare the pigeon is injured or killed. The message arrives swiftly, and the messenger cannot gossip. Every three years Timon and I exchange additional birds, for our winged messengers can only be worked for three to five years. If they survive past then they are too old to be reliable.

“Should the king appear near death you are to launch at least two pigeons. I am Edward’s thegn. I cannot stand by while Godwin’s son steals England’s throne and Duke William is not likely to take England without a struggle, for Godwin’s brood are greedy and will not release their hold on it easily. I must be here to support the duke for in the end he will prevail over Harold. Those he believes to have opposed him will suffer the consequences of their foolish actions. I do not intend to lose my lands in the coming squabble, and you, my son Brand, are to steer clear of all factional fighting until I return.