Avalon (49 page)

"I never thought about it," she said faintly, "that Orm means serpent in Norse. It was Sigurd's grandfather's name, and he wanted it."

All those years when she had not really thought at all. Golden years of mutual pleasure with Sigurd. The little homestead at Langarfoss, presided over by the Snaefell glacier, by the snow-peaked gabled mountains, by the distant and fey cone of Baula, by the singing swans which flew overhead, by the arctic fireweed she gathered in summertime, while baby Orm trotted beside her. I was happy then and did not know it.

"Orm —" she said with difficulty, "I have so prayed that you were not killing people."

"And what good are Christian prayers?" said Orm. "Anyway Christians constantly kill each other. Look at King Sweyn's sister, Gunhild, she was Christian. And you people do not even honor your sacred oaths."

"That was Ethelred's doing — the massacre, and he is King."

Orm said, "Tcha!" exactly Hke Ketil, and departed for the Guardroom.

When Wulfric came back from the mews, Merewyn hastily explained the reappearance of Orm. She said that Orm had a liking for the sea, and had been on several long voyages. She did not explain with whom Orm had gone. The Thane was incurious as ever. He was pleased to welcome Orm, and then talked interminably about his falcons; the mews should be enlarged, he would need another falconer; the perches were not of the proper height, and the leg tethers would have to be remade.

Merewyn was used to this, but Orm was beginning to yawn into his flagon. The bard came in, and Orm revived as the man began to chant the "Lay of Beowulf." Again, Merewyn thought, but saw that this story of blood and battle and underwater monsters held Orm's attention. She also felt an intuition that there was something he wanted to tell her, something private which had not yet appeared, and was not entirely to do with a filial visit.

It didn't take very long to be quit of Wulfric. Staggering slightly, for he had drunk an extra flagon of mead in honor of the guest, he said that he was for bed. "Have a good chat, you two," he said amiably as a housecarl steadied him, and to Orm, "Your mother's been pining to see ye, many's the long day."

Merewyn told one of the housecarls to build up the fire, then dismissed all the servitors. She and Orm sat down in armchairs near the warmth.

"You've something to tell me," she said, restraining herself from leaning over to kiss him. "Would it be that Sweyn is going to attack in Hampshire? Have you brought a warning?"

"That may be," said Orm after a moment. "Sweyn's host is mighty. They've just taken Exeter."

"Exeter, which was governed by the Queen's Norman Count, Hugo?"

Orm nodded. "He delivered the town up to us. We hardly had to draw a sword."

"Did they go to Tavistock Abbey again?" she asked very low.

"Why, no," said Orm astonished. "The army is moving east for London and you won't be molested here. I've seen to that. Stay tranquil. Mother, on your own very fine Manor. And I'm sure that Wulfric'll not bestir himself."

"He will if the King calls on him!" She had a flash of anger. "So you and your Danes want to destroy England!"

"We are all Norsemen," said Orm. "So are the Normans for that matter, and soon you'll see that tliey'll join with the rest of us. As Count Hugo has done at Exeter. I told you before that England was a rotting plum. Squeeze it here, it squirts there. Soon it will collapse into mushiness."

Merewyn was silent; she knew that Orm was coming to the real object of his visit.

"Mother," he said suddenly, leaning forward. "You remember Leif Erikson? We now call him Leif the Lucky."

"Of course I remember," she answered tartly, "though I prefer not to think about that time on Greenland."

"Well —" said Orm, brushing this silly remark aside, "there's a Greenlander on my ship — I told you I was steersman?"

"You told me."

"His name in Einar, and he was one of Leif Erikson's crew when they set out from Brattalid to find Vinland."

"What's that?'' she said since he paused, looked at her with excited eyes, and seemed to be wanting her to say something.

"That place to the west. It's a whole new country, Mother! A very big one. And a rich one. They went south and south for days along a coast lined with beautiful trees. They wintered in a freshwater lake, the berries grew thick around it, nothing froze much all winter, not the way things freeze in Greenland, and besides all that free timber, they found wild grapes. That's why Leif called the place Vinland."

*'So . . ." said Merewyn after a moment. "That must be the place Jorund and — and Rumon got to when Ari Marson's ship was blown there."

"Oh yes, Mother. They found that place too! Einar says they sailed into a river called 'Merrimac' by the skraelings of which there were many in little pointed boats made of birch bark. That Ari Marson himself came down the bank to greet them. He was cordial enough and gave them supplies, but did not want them to stay there. He seemed to be a sort of chief of this place, both skraelings and a lot of wizened old 'Papas' who hid in some rocky caves. Einar says these Tapas' were like the kind who used to hve on Iceland ages ago."

"And what does all this lead to?" asked Merewyn.

"That I wish to go there," said Orm simply.

"Why?" she asked. "I thought you were settled with King Sweyn's avenging horde."

"I've talked to him," said Orm. "I got enough plunder myself to buy the boat I'm steering. Einar too has some to buy his way out of Sweyn's army. And also—"he paused, she saw the youthful blushing of his neck, "there is a girl ... in Dublin, where we provisioned our fleet. She's part Norse, part Celtic Hke you. She even has a kind of red hair like you."

"Oh, has she indeed," said Merewyn in a neutral voice. "And she's willing to voyage towards this Vinland with you?"

"She says so."

"Is she Christian?"

"She's been baptized," said Orm defiantly. "But what does all this water-sprinkling matter! We Norse do it too."

"I'm not sure how much it matters, if the Spirit isn't there," said Merewyn slowly. She sighed. "So you wish to be a colonist in the new world. I wish you luck, and am glad that you will be fighting nobody except maybe skraelings. I wish I could meet your betrothed," she added wistfully.

"But she's in Dublin! Einar has a girl there also. We'll hire a crew in Exeter, that's where my ship is, and pick up the two

girls in Ireland, then around to Greenland, join one of the expeditions. Einar says that they were planning at least a yearly boat of colonists from Brattalid."

"So far . . . so far away . . ." she said, putting her hand over her eyes. "Orm, aren't you sorry that you went a-viking?"

"Not a bit. Mother, but I'm sorry you sold the Bylgja, though I've learned to make this neiv ship of mine daunt Aegir's nine fierce daughters."

"I'll never see you again," she said, looking into the fire. He had not asked her to go with him; it would not be reasonable that he should, but even if he had she knew that she no longer felt the courage to brave the dampness and the danger, and the interminable rocking of the sea. She was used now to dainty fare, and even that sometimes disagreed. She had headaches. She grew chilly often. I'm no longer young, Merewyn thought. I feel young inside but my body doesn't.

"It's late, dear Mother," said Orm, brushing his golden-bearded lips across her forehead. "I must get back to King Sweyn, and take my final leave of him."

"Orm," she said, scarcely daring to look at him. "You didn't — the Danes didn't land in Cornwall this time? You've killed no Cornish?"

"No. Nor English. Though I would if I had to. I'd rather not. Sweyn understands, even young Canute does. These are not rulers like your precious Ethelred; they are warriors but they're not lazy or treacherous, and they honor their oaths."

"All the English are not like Ethelred," said Merewyn. "You know they aren't."

"Whatever they are, I want none of them, and they're no kin to you, really. Never mind, Mother, don't look so — so white. May the Noms decree a pleasant fate for you!"

He was gone.

She sat very still looking at the fire. Then she picked up Foss who was stretched out by her feet, and held him against her cheek. Foss had not barked at all while Orm was there. The

little creamy-coated dog must have known that the stranger was someone she loved.

During the next week Merewyn felt ill, and concealed it from Wulfric. The only satisfaction she had was in telling him of Orm's departure to lands which had been discovered over the western ocean.

Wulfric was mildly interested to hear that Orm was thinking of going there. He could understand no place outside of England nor saw any need to. He was pleased by the arrival of the crated white gyrfalcon from up north and talked of little else. He was glad that his new falconer seemed to be able to train the bird.

By May even Wulfric had to admit that Sweyn's army was overrunning Wiltshire. That they destroyed Wilton and Salisbury with very little opposition. Merewyn suspected that the Queen had managed to put some of her Normans in more key positions. The King gave no order to fight, but the men of Wiltshire rose and looked to Cild Aelfric, Earl of Mercia, as their natural leader. As might be expected, Aelfric accepted the general's post, and then when actually confronted by the enemy with their war helmets, their chain mail, their double-edged swords and battle-axes, their berserker yells, Aelfric started to vomit, saying that he was too ill to lead the counterattack. He turned tail and fled. His demoralized squadron became panicky. They fled too. Sweyn had it all his own way, and got so much plunder from the southern shires that his ships were overloaded. He decided to abandon the east coast for the present, and go back to the Isle of Wight, and its harbor at Cowes where he had already made a snug retreat for himself, with shelters for the men, and nausts for the ships. A good place to winter before a spring attack on Norfolk, and then London.

The news soon spread that the Danish horde had sailed away. Wulfric said comfortably to Merewyn, "I told ye they would,

m'dear. Naught to fear. D'ye want to come and look at the mews? But don't bring the dog, it upsets my falcons."

"Very well," said Merewyn dispiritedly. She did not like the mews, which she had seen often. It smelled, and the frenzied, inimical batting of two dozen wings disturbed her. All those chained birds, and especially the white gyrfalcon, which had cruel eyes.

As they crossed the courtyard, they both looked around. There were two men at the portal — Benedictine monks.

They want hospitality, she thought, can't make it into Winchester.

There were quite often chance-comers through here from the west. Wulfric never stinted them, nor did she. Any change was agreeable.

But their visitors had never before been black-robed monks.

Wulfric went forward eagerly to greet the two monks. "May we help you. Brethren? You're welcome to anything we have." He looked at the tethered mules, outside the portal, and said, "One of 'em gone lame? We've a smithy on the Manor."

The taller monk smiled and bowed. "I am Brother Laurence from Tavistock Abbey, this is Brother Gwyn. We're not in need of help, thank you, we are seeking the Lady Merewyn."

When Merewyn heard "Tavistock Abbey," she stiffened. She bit her underlip so as not to make a sound.

Wulfric looked mildly astonished. "Here is the Lady Merewyn, my wife."

Brother Laurence bowed again. "We have a rather strange request to make of you. There's a holy monk at Tavistock. His name is Rumon. He's an atheling of the blood royal, yet is a humble man. We wished to elect him Abbot, but he wouldn't have it. He has known you, lady, in his secular life ... ?"

"Yes."

"Who was that?" Wulfric asked, his honest face creasing in a perplexed frown. "You never told me about anybody called Rumon."

No, she thought, and there are a great many things I haven't told you.

"Brother Rumon," continued the tall monk, "has been smitten in his legs. He cannot walk. And he feels death near. He wants to see you again, lady."

"What a very odd thing," said Wulfric. "You mean she's to visit him?"

"That is Brother Rumon's hope."

"Well," said Wulfric, mulHng this over. "Don't make any sense to me."

"I want to go, Wulfric," said Merewyn.

Everybody waited while Wulfric thought.

"You've been a bit in the dumps lately," he finally said. "The journey might be good for you. But ye can't just go off with these monks. I'll send two or three housecarls too."

"Thank you, my husband." She kissed him on the cheek. "You are always good." A good man, a dull man, but a good one.

Underneath her heart began to sing as it had not in years. Rumon has sent for me! Rumon cares again that I exist.

It was a morning in early August when Merewyn arrived at Tavistock. On the journey she had heard from Brother Laurence the tale of Rumon's great courage. As she had heard it halfway up Glastonbury Tor from Brother Finian, but with additions. Rumon had saved the Abbey treasure, he had killed two Vikings, yes, but one of them had inflicted some sort of blow on Rumon's back which did not show up very soon as an injury. It had now, and the monk-physician at the Abbey thought it the source of Rumon's trouble. This Infirmarer had given Rumon all the herbs he could think of, but Rumon's legs had gone numb and cold. His heartbeat labored.

"He never complains," said Brother Laurence. "We all admire his fortitude, and when we confess to him, everyone is comforted by his kind, inspiring words."

Merewyn pondered on Brother Laurence's praise of Rumon

as they rode through the last of Dartmoor, before descending to the Tavy.

It was a day of brilHant sunshine, as brilliant as it had sometimes been in Iceland, and only small white puffy clouds were drifting northward. This whole day on which I see Rumon again will be fair, she thought. On Iceland, one might never be sure, there the skies could darken so fast. Light and shadow. Light and shadow —when had she thought that before? Long ago with Rumon in the moonlight on Glastonbury Tor. Of late, for me, there have been deep shadows.