Avelynn (30 page)

“What's the plan for Wedmore should the Vikings win?” I asked.

Thick white eyebrows knitted together. “We haven't any.”

“All this time, with the threat of war hanging over us, has no one discussed an escape route, or a means to get the people safely away?”

“Where would we go?” He removed his heavy cloak, hanging it on a hook near the door, and sat down. “If Wessex falls to the Vikings, there will not be any place safe from their wrath. Each county, each city, will have to defend itself as best it can.”

“But other than a few slaves, there are only women and children here. How are we to defend ourselves against a horde of Vikings?”

“I suspect we can't. If it comes to that, we can only hope for their mercy.”

“Mercy?” I remembered what Edward had said about the Vikings' penchant for amusement by torturing the monks of St. Denis. “I'd be responsible for leaving lambs to the wolves.”

He rested his hands in his lap. “What would you propose we do?”

I slumped onto a bench opposite him, defeated. “I don't know, but I can't sit by and do nothing.” I searched his eyes. “I wouldn't be able to live with myself.”

“War is not a time for guilt, Avelynn. Too much is beyond our control. The outcome of this conflict is the will of the gods. Each man, woman, and child's fate rests in their hands.”

“I refuse to leave them helpless to the gods' whims. There must be something we can do.” I tapped my foot impatiently and scanned the room for inspiration. My mother's psaltery hung on the wall. An expert craftsman had made the harp for her, and when she played it, it was as if the notes moved you to another time and place, the music stirring your soul into a world of beauty and promise. She played it almost every night, and I would often accompany her on the tabor—Bertram wasn't the only one skilled at drumming. I smiled, remembering those long-lost evenings, but then something sparked. The psaltery made me think of my mother, which made me think of …

“Avalon! We'll take them to Avalon.” I turned to Bertram. “No one else knows about it or how to reach it. We can build a new life there, a life safe from Vikings, safe from torture or rape, the children safe from the slave markets.”

“And if no one agrees to go?”

“If it comes down to such a decision—to stay and face death or worse, or take a leap of faith and save themselves and their children—I don't think there'll be a contest.”

“We would need to start making preparations.”

“Agreed.” I felt much better now that I was doing something. Waiting helplessly for word of my father and brother was gut-churning.

“Speak with Father Plegmund. See if you can persuade him to support our cause. We can use the weaving sheds to assemble all the supplies and foodstuffs we would need to see us through till the next harvest. I'll speak with the women and ask that they each assemble a crate of clothes, blankets, and essential household goods to be ready should we need to depart hastily.”

Bertram stood and laid a hand on my shoulder. “I hope it will not come to this, but if it does, you may have saved many.”

*   *   *

“M'lady.” Aluson bowed. “I've word of your father.”

It was late evening, a full day since we first received word that the army was routed, and I sat in my cottage, preparing a list of what would be needed should we be forced to flee. I had already visited each of the homes in the village and asked them to spread word: should Wessex fall, or the Vikings march to Wedmore, we would meet at the gates and flee into the marshes. I assured them I knew of a place hidden from danger. I was pleased that most of those I spoke with were readily in agreement. I could do nothing for those who chose to stay.

I put down my quill and wiped my face, realizing I had probably just smeared ink across my forehead.

I looked at Aluson and held my breath. “Yes?”

“He fares well, m'lady.”

“And Edward?”

“They're both safe.”

I let out my breath, and my shoulders dropped away from my ears. “Thank the gods.” Heart pounding, my gaze locked with Aluson's. His eyebrows creased in confusion. “I mean … thank the merciful God. What news?”

The uncertainty on his face relaxed, and if he thought any more of the heretical statement, he gave no indication of it. It was after all a term that hadn't been uttered aloud for hundreds of years. Affecting calm, I eased myself back, leaning against the table.

His news continued unabated. “The king and a large portion of the army made their way to a small ford across the River Thames. They retreated to safety, not stopping till they reached Windsor. The army is regrouping. Many didn't escape the slaughter. Ealdorman Aethelwulf of Berkshire lay amongst the dead.”

“Aethelwulf?” I thought of Cyneburga, of the two of them together at the Christmas feast. Would Berkshire fall? Would Cyneburga and her young children perish next? My thoughts flowed to Wedmore and its people. I wouldn't let them down.

“The Vikings will not rest, m'lady. Already Halfdan Ragnarsson and Bagsecg march toward Wallingford.”

Wallingford was home to one of the richest monasteries in Wessex. Outside Wallingford was a wide causeway of stone and rubble that allowed people to ford the Thames. The pass was a crucial link in one of the most valuable transportation networks through southern England. To lose that strategic and economic post would cost Aethelred and Wessex dearly.

I sent Aluson off to scout more news while I turned my attention back to Wedmore's plan of escape and waited, like everyone else, for further word.

*   *   *

Two days later, on the eighth of January, Aluson returned. Another battle had raged in Berkshire on the plains of Ashdown.

Everyone in Wedmore was assembled in the hall to hear the news. And like the gleeman who enjoys the rapt attention of all who hear him sing, Aluson appeared to enjoy the crowd's absorption in his words as he acted out events and raised and lowered the inflection of his voice as all good storytellers are wont to do.

“We were entrenched high above the old Roman road, on Kingstanding Hill, waiting for the Heathen Army. The Vikings came over the ridge and saw us spread out before them. They split their army—one force commanded by Halfdan and Bagsecg themselves, the other by several powerful jarls. Each division formed a shield wall and began hurling taunts and jeers at us as they advanced.”

The shield wall was a ruthless and bloody business, and the military formation of choice. Standing shoulder to shoulder, warriors formed a defensive line, several rows deep, and slowly marched forward until the opposing walls collided.

“King Aethelred split his forces to meet the Vikings head-on. Alfred was in charge of one division, our good king the other. Eager to crush the heathens, Alfred raced to the field, his men lining up their shields in opposition. The Vikings advanced toward Alfred until they closed in on him from both sides. It was a terrible racket, everyone banging their swords or axes against their shields, yelling and taunting one another.”

I thought of Ealhswith and her babe, Aethelflaed. Dear gods, if anything should happen to Alfred. I gripped the arms of my father's chair. “What of Alfred?” I asked.

“Alfred was in a dangerous position. He was going to have to retreat and give the Vikings considerable gains, or press forward and fight.”

“Where were Aethelred and his division?”

“He was praying, m'lady, for a favorable outcome.”

My mouth gaped, but all around me people were whispering in reverential murmurs.

“You mean to tell me that he sent his brother into the fray and held his men back while he prayed?”

“Yes, m'lady. Alfred was alone on the field. But he took matters into his own hands and charged at the Vikings with the courage and valor of a true chieftain. His shield wall crashed into theirs. I could hear the impact from where I stood. 'Twas a most noble act!”

“Jesu,” one of the women nearest me whispered, and crossed herself.

I echoed her sentiment, if not her words, and sent a silent prayer to the Goddess for his safety and the welfare of Ealhswith and their child.

“Alfred stood strong for a time, but by noon his shield wall was crumbling; the piles of bodies lay several corpses deep.”

“Where was Aethelred? Couldn't he see his brother was in danger—that they were losing? Where was my father during all this?”

“I was with your father as he waited on word from Aethelred. We could see the bloodshed but could do nothing till we received the king's command. We watched both divisions of the Viking army close in on Alfred. He was surrounded.”

I was furious. So much wasted life, for what—a sign? “Dear God, Aluson, what happened?”

“When all seemed lost, the king gave the command to charge. The Vikings were caught off guard. Having thought Alfred was all that was left of the Wessex army, they left themselves open for Aethelred's attack.” His eyes shone with awe. “The battle raged for several hours until the Viking king Bagsecg fell, and then five more jarls met their deaths at the end of Saxon blades. The Heathen Army was put to flight, and we gave chase until nightfall, cutting down all who stood in our way. The Viking dead lay in the thousands. It was a valiant victory for Wessex! The fyrd is heralding Alfred as a hero, but in his humility, he raised the first toast to his brother, our noble king.”

Everyone cheered, and I slumped back in my seat with relief. I sent for barrels of mead to be fetched from the storage room at the back of the hall. We would celebrate.

“What of Halfdan?” I asked over the jubilant cheering.

“He limped back to Reading with a handful of men. The Vikings are ruined.” A brilliant grin fixed on his grubby face.

“Mead for everyone!” I yelled.

Harps, lyres, psalteries, pipes, and tabors appeared, and the hall erupted in music. I had the kitchens prepare a sumptuous feast.

After several hours of revelry and a steady supply of mead, pages brought in a roasted pig festooned with garlands of greenery. They placed the meat on a large table and began carving it out to all present. Breads and cheeses, apples, and nuts were passed around, each person taking his fill.

“M'lady?” Aluson appeared at my elbow. I sat at the head table, tapping my foot to the music.

“Did you help yourself to enough mead and meat?” I asked, my eyes fixed on the merriment.

“Yes, m'lady.”

I turned and looked at him. His face was washed of its ruddy glow. My heart began to flutter. “What is it?”

“A messenger, m'lady. He's waiting outside.”

“Well, send him in, Aluson. It's freezing.”

“He asks to speak with you … alone. He says it's urgent.” He stepped back, waiting for me to rise.

“Very well.”

I retrieved my cloak and stepped into the frigid air. A young boy stood beneath the porch's overhang. He was dressed in a ragged cloak, torn gloves, and a hat far too small for his long, narrow head. It didn't even cover his vibrantly red ears.

“M'lady Avelynn?” He bowed.

“Yes.”

“I bring news of greatest sorrow. A funerary cortege makes its way west to Wedmore. Your lord father has been killed.”

 

NINETEEN

“How is this possible?” I demanded of Wulfric. “You were sworn to protect him with your life.”

“Be still, Avelynn,” Bertram soothed.

I was pacing the floor of my cottage, the rushes pressed flat beneath my relentless feet.

“Aye, and I was beside him the entire time. I didn't see him suffer so much as a scrape. He was a valiant warrior. I know no man his equal.” Still dressed in full mail, Wulfric and Leofric stood near the door.

After the Vikings had been routed, Wulfric found my father leaning against a tree. When he slapped him on the back in congratulations, my father fell forward and rolled lifeless to the ground, blank eyes staring upward into the beech's naked boughs. Blood poured from a gaping sword wound to his belly. His mail shirt was the only thing keeping his intestines from spilling onto the snow.

My chest shook with the effort of restraint. Confined tears blurred the corners of my eyes, but I refused to show weakness in front of my father's men.

“And Edward? Who was protecting Edward?” I asked.

Leofric removed his helmet. “He was told to remain at the back with the priests. No one knows what happened. We scoured the dead, but could not find his body.”

I sniffed back a choking sob. He had wanted to fight the Vikings. Gods, what had he done? “No one can just vanish,” I stammered. “If he's not amongst the dead then someone must have taken him. Have the Vikings sent any demands for ransom?” A wave of nausea flushed my cheeks, and I reached out to lean against the table.

“We've not heard of any, no,” Wulfric answered.

“Send men to scour the slave markets.”

“We cannot spare them, my lady,” Leofric answered.

“Avelynn, sit.” Bertram motioned to one of the benches near the hearth.

I didn't want to sit. I hugged my arms tight around me.

Bertram frowned but didn't press the issue. “The war is not done, Avelynn. Already reinforcements have arrived to join Halfdan. Viking warships are choking the Thames estuary, sailing toward Reading. Their numbers will swell, where ours have diminished. They will be thousands strong with fresh warriors, while our army, battle weary and cold, cannot hope to add more to our numbers. Somerset is the only county that has sent levies to support Berkshire. Other shires are merely watching and waiting. And despite the need, Aethelred is not in a position to argue. He requires the shires to be ready lest the Vikings change course and set upon another area. Wulfric cannot spend time searching for Edward. Wessex can spare no one.”

“You will find someone to search. I don't care if it's a slave. I refuse to give up so easily.” I glared at them.