Avelynn (19 page)

I opened the door to Ealhswith's chambers and gave a cursory look around. Certain the way was clear, I turned to her. “There's someone here who wishes to see you.”

She looked up from the bundle asleep in her arms, and her eyes alighted upon her husband. A tender smile graced her face as she reached out her hand. He seemed to float toward it. Taking her hand in his, he kissed her forehead and knelt at her side, eyes fixed on the face of his new daughter. I closed the door behind me.

“Mistress Avelynn.”

I turned to see Aluson, Wedmore's messenger, approaching me.

“A letter has arrived from Francia for you.”

He handed me a well-traveled piece of parchment. A feeling of dread settled in the pit of my stomach. With a slight tremor, I opened the letter. It was written by a monk at the St. Denis monastery.

Dearest Lady Avelynn, Daughter of Eanwulf, Ealdorman of Somerset, I am writing to inform you of a sickness that has afflicted your father's party. It is my sincerest regret to inform you that two men have succumbed to their illness: Wulfstan, son of Wulfstan, the Earl of Devon; and Willibald, son of Willibroad, ironworker of Wedmore. Your most noble father, humbled before the most glorious God, prays for the deliverance of their souls unto Him, asking for His beneficent mercy. He asks you send his sincerest condolences to the families of these brave men, who in selflessness served Him and His humble servant, your esteemed King Aethelred, here on this earthly plane. May God receive their souls.

It is also with great sadness that I inform you that your brother, Edward, has taken ill and is too weak with fever to continue on to the most Eternal City of Rome. Your betrothed, Demas of Wareham, has also been stricken. I have taken it upon myself to see to their recovery, or if it be His will, their passing. If by the grace of God they should be healed, they will return home. I ask for your prayers and thoughts for their welfare and hastened recovery.

Farewell in Christ,

Brother William, St. Denis

I slid down the wall, my skirt crumpling onto the dusty sand.

“Are you well, my lady?” Aluson stepped forward, but I raised a hand, imploring a moment.

Dear Gods, this letter would have taken over a fortnight to reach me. While I was lost in Alrik's embrace, Edward could have been struggling for his last breath. He could right now be dead, buried in foreign soil far from home.

I rubbed a rough hand across my face. And Wulfstan, the sweet, kindhearted boy who had sought my hand … dead. I thought about when I had seen him last at Christmas, eager to embark on the hunt. How full of life he had been. How was this possible?

A light mist had started to fall, just enough to dampen my upturned face and make my hair heavy and limp. I closed my eyes. I knew I should feel concern for Demas; after all, he was suffering too, perhaps teetering upon the edge of death, but deep inside I felt a sense of hope. That didn't mean I wanted him dead—I wasn't that cold and heartless—but perhaps he could be too weak to return to England. Maybe he would head back to Rome, where the clime would better suit his weakened condition. Maybe he would stay there.

I exhaled, chastising myself for my insensitivity and selfishness, and promised to say a prayer to the Goddess for his soul and well-being.

I opened my eyes and peered through the tiny droplets that hovered on the edge of my lashes. The sky was darkening. I needed to get home. I had to inform Wulfstan's and Willibald's families of the men's death, and I wanted to be there in case Edward returned.

I turned to the young man waiting patiently for my response. “Aluson, get to the kitchens, take what sustenance you need, and have them pack two satchels for us. Inform the stable master that we will leave at first light on the morrow. You can sleep in the hall tonight.”

“Of course, my lady.” He bowed and ran off.

Aluson and his twin sister Dearwyne had been orphaned when they were only seven years of age. My father had taken them in and found a place for them in the manor. Aluson was lean, tall, and restless—admirable traits in a swift messenger—while Dearwyne had a keen eye and a quiet, serene focus that belied her years. At fourteen, she was better than many of the older women in weaving and embroidery.

I knocked softly on Ealhswith's door. Waiting a moment, I opened it fully and stepped inside. The room was still stifling and the small family remained intimately absorbed in one another.

I cleared my throat. “I must leave.”

Ealhswith turned in my direction. “Why?”

“A letter has arrived from Francia. My father continues on with his journey, but my brother has fallen ill.”

“Oh, Avelynn, I'm so sorry.”

Alfred rose and clasped my hands. “May God watch over him. I will say a prayer for Edward's health.”

“Thank you.” I walked to Ealhswith. Aethelflaed's little hands were balled tight, her ruby-red lips pouting as she slept. I kissed Ealhswith's forehead. “Take care of yourself, my friend, and spoil my goddaughter until I can get back and do it myself.” I looked at her pointedly. “I will visit here again in July.”

The royal entourage grazed from manor to manor, depleting each royal village's resources before moving on to the next. This way, the burden of supporting the crown was shared amongst the shires, and the nobility managed to keep a close eye on their subjects. Not knowing where she might end up, it was essential that Ealhswith found her way back to Bath.

“July?” Her eyebrows shot up and a huge grin crinkled the edges of her eyes. “Really?”

I had doggedly avoided the topic of my paramour coming back. It was one thing to tumble into one night of logical impairment, but to willingly engage in the activity again—it was hard for me to rationalize, never mind talk about. But I knew I would need her help.

Alfred was looking directly at me and couldn't see his wife's salacious look of mischief.

My cheeks reddened. “Until July, then,” I said, and retreated quickly.

Seeking the guest cottage, I prepared myself for a night of listless sleep. A vision of Edward cloistered and scared, alone and sick in a dark, damp room far away from home, alternated with an image of his small, emaciated body, black earth packed tightly around him, his vacant eyes open, eternally searching for peace.

 

TWELVE

J
UNE 870

A month and a half passed without word from Francia or the arrival of my brother. I had written back at once, asking for an update on Edward's and Demas's progress but had yet to hear any news. I tried to keep my mind from dwelling on Edward's condition and on my upcoming meeting with Alrik by busying myself with manorial tasks.

The granaries were still being guarded. So far, no word of bribes or treachery had reached my ears, and the inventory was being checked consistently for any signs of theft. Milo and Walther seemed grateful to retain honorable positions at court by acting as advisors, and I had assigned Aluson to assist Eata. I was very pleased. Aluson was a fast and eager learner.

In his role as head guardsman, Leofric continued to oversee the remaining warriors of the estate and proved skilled at tackling the added responsibilities while helping Bertram as reeve.

Most encouraging of all, Sigberht had stayed in Kent—not a wisp of malevolence to disturb my fledgling calm. He had even made his first payment of one hundred pence without so much as a grumble. All seemed well, and for that I was grateful.

The fields were sowed, children assigned the task of keeping hungry birds away from the newly laid seed with slingshots; hay was scythed, dried, collected, and placed in byres; cows were milked, pigs were fattened, sheep were sheared; fields kept fallow were plowed, manure mixed into the hungry earth; and gardens were tended with as much care as the larger fields of cereals, beans, and peas.

Along with several other women, I spent a great deal of time fussing in the large garden behind the hall. Fenced off from the surrounding area, so no wandering sheep, cow, pig, or deer could trample or eat the tender shoots, the garden included a large variety of vegetation—from foodstuffs to culinary herbs to a few common medicinal plants.

I knew very little about leechdom. My practical knowledge and experience with healing were pitiful at best. I knew simple cures for wounds and fevers, but anything more that I might have learned from my mother, she never got the opportunity to teach me.

There were several leeches in Wessex, but many, if not all, revolved around the king's court. Some of the more powerful monasteries had monks adept at healing, and they were charged with caring for the poor. However, the monasteries were crowded and often had to turn people away, and most villagers didn't have the means of transport necessary to make the trip, nor did they have the money needed to send for a royal leech. Most preferred to die at home in their beds. If a situation looked dire and I was informed in time, I would personally send for the leech and pay for his services. At worst, I would stand with Father Plegmund, offering my own silent prayers to the Goddess if they passed into the afterlife.

The more I weeded around the various medicinal plants, pulling out roots, or cutting the noxious stems close to the earth, the more I wondered what the witch had given me: both to ward off pregnancy and for the wound on my hand. Despite my trepidations, I was leaving on the morrow to attain more of her curious decoction. I wasn't looking forward to stepping foot again in that squalid hut, but my fear of ripening with child and the scandal it would create, not to mention the terror of childbirth itself, more than outweighed my fear of her—and her beast.

I pressed a leaf of sage between thumb and forefinger, inhaling the faintly musky aroma. Perhaps I could entreat her to share her knowledge? Maybe there was something I could offer her in return. I thought about the purse I had thrown onto the floor. She definitely liked coins.

*   *   *

Before I left for the witch's cottage near Congresbury, I sent a message to Ealhswith, informing her of my intent to visit in just over a fortnight. I would arrive two days before the next full moon.

Part of me wanted to stay at Wedmore in case word of Edward arrived, but I had waited in vain since early May, and it was now the end of June. With the manor running smoothly, it seemed an opportune time to leave. Bertram sensed something within my elusive moods, but my answer to his unwavering questions was always the same: I wanted to commune with the Goddess … alone.

I needed to fend off his suspicions for only a little while longer. I knew this relationship with Alrik couldn't last. This rendezvous was most likely the end of it. But I desperately wanted to see him again. I wanted to feel his arms around me, his body pressed against mine. I wanted to collect each sensory experience, each vibrant moment, and hoard them away, ready to relive again and again whenever I needed them. If Demas returned, I knew I would need all the inspiration I could get.

As I drew farther from Wedmore, the noxious fumes of the tanner's trade assaulted my senses. Pits of urine were used to help remove the hair from the skins, and vats of dog and animal dung were used to soften the hides. I raised my arm to cover my nose as Marma and I passed. I wondered what ever had become of the tanner's son. He had kept his hand thanks to me, but I imagine my interference had not spared the lad other insults or injury. I glanced around but didn't see anyone. It wasn't necessary to constantly watch the pits, as each hide could sit in the mixtures for weeks or months at a time, the tanner removing them only to knead or scrape as needed before plunging them back into the noxious liquid. Spurring Marma forward, I encouraged her to set a brisk pace until we were no longer downwind.

After half a day's ride, the road through the highlands alternated between thick gravel tracks and narrow dirt trails. As I rounded a bend, vibrant green hills inclined away from me on my right, while a narrow band of grass and low scrub blended into the thicker forest to my left. I had made good time and allowed Marma to meander at a snail's pace while I collected my thoughts. I was determined to gain the witch's confidence.

A muffled shout filtered through the trees. I reined the horse to a stop, scanning the path ahead. There were no signs of habitation nearby. Marma sensed the tension and pawed anxiously at the ground, pulling on the reins as she tried to convince me to leave.

“Whoa, beautiful,” I soothed, stroking her strong, smooth neck. I dismounted, and despite her apprehension, tied her to a tree. While thieves and outlaws were uncommon since Aethelred's reign had begun, the forests still held deep and dark secrets. I couldn't walk away if someone was in need of help. No one else was likely to come upon this spot for hours, if not days.

Unsheathing my sword, I followed a deer track, pushing through the dense undergrowth, moving deeper into the forest. A lone horse snorted and shifted at my approach. I brought my finger to my lips, shushing the horse, and made my way forward, tiptoeing through slender saplings and leaf mold. The hairs on my arms bristled as the row of thrashing and grunting increased, the sounds of struggle carrying me to a clearing.

I froze, the view before me opening. Two men were engaged in some sort of sexual act.

One was bent over a large log, while the other, his trousers bunched around his thighs, thrust and groaned. Realizing my error, I tried to flee, but was stopped short by the presence of a sharp blade pressed against the small of my back. My sudden intake of breath seemed to echo through the clearing, and the men, stopping their horseplay, turned to face me.

I blinked at the apparition, my mouth dropping in shock. Standing with his weight resting softly against the other man's bare buttocks, Demas stared back at me.

“I thought you were dead,” was the first thing that escaped my mouth.

He looked down at his hands, turned them over, and shrugged. “Apparently not. Sorry to disappoint you.”