Avelynn (6 page)

I returned my attention to the pulpit. Ealhferth was having quite a rant. “The Vikings have come as punishment for England's sins. Repent. Repent, before the plague of heathens descends upon us!” On and on it went, spittle flying in a continuous stream onto the poor parishioners in the front rows. “It's been four years since the Great Heathen Army descended upon this land. Hundreds of longships turned our horizon black as night, carrying the spawn of Satan forever to our shores. Northumbria has fallen, their lecherous ways leading them into the hands of the Devil. East Anglia has traded their virtuous robes for the cloths of sloth and greed, their saintly king tortured and defiled!”

I rolled my eyes. All the panic over King Edmund's death had come to nothing. The Vikings seemed content to settle down in East Anglia, marshaling out farmland and finding wives amongst Saxon women. They hadn't made any threats toward Wessex, and while spying eyes always kept wary watch, life had slowly returned to normal.

Ealhferth pointed a stubby, plump finger at his flock. “Wessex, your faith is being tested. Repent your sins, or feel the wrath of God!”

I groaned, earning glances from a group of ladies in front of me and a murderous scowl from my father. I cast my eyes downward, affecting pious contrition. The Vikings were not God's punishment for society's or man's weak, materialistic, and lascivious constitutions. They were not sent in retribution for not giving enough benefaction to the church, nor did they come as retaliation for celebrating and feasting for twelve nights at Christmastide, though the bishops would like everyone to believe that. The church's edict was clear—too much of earthly pleasures and God would smite you where you stood. Or better yet, he'd send the Vikings to do it for him.

The mass finally ended and everyone filed out of the Minster. I breathed in great gulps of cold, crisp air. While beautiful, Christian churches were suffocating. Unlike the Goddess faith—which celebrated the vastness of nature, in the vastness of nature—Christianity threw its followers into small, cramped churches and stuffed them together like rows of gluttonous piglets fighting for a teat. I was grateful to be back out in the open, despite the substantial nip in the air.

The morning was sullen and gray. A few flurries scurried about in the brisk north wind. November had been just a prelude of what this winter had in store for Wessex. It was, by far, the coldest December I could recall.

I caught sight of Demas walking out of the nave, and I smoothed down the front of my kirtle. I hadn't seen him since our first abysmal meeting a month ago, and I wanted to make a good impression.

I had spent a great deal of time fussing in front of my mirror earlier. I had picked a soft blue kirtle that suited the paleness of my skin and paired it with a deep indigo cloak that set the blue of my eyes sparkling. Near each temple, I had braided a length of hair, tying them together near the nape of my neck with a silk ribbon that matched the pale blue of my dress. Turning and turning, I had tried to gauge the effect from every possible angle. I felt confident that I presented an acceptable image.

I dropped into a low curtsy. “Good morning, Demas.”

“Lady.” He waved his hand in dismissal and continued on his way to the stables.

Taken aback, I stared at his departing form until he disappeared into the throng of men pressed near the king's stables. Wulfstan, the Earl of Devon's son, approached me and bowed gracefully.

“Lady Avelynn, you look enchanting this morning.” Honey-blond hair hung in soft curls to his collarbone, framing high cheekbones and deep brown eyes.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I hear you're betrothed.” He looked in the direction of my intended.

“Yes, I hear that too,” I said, following his gaze.

“I wish it was I who had stolen your heart.”

I smiled weakly. He had been one of the most charming and handsome suitors to try to win my hand, and I enjoyed his company … but I never felt that spark of wanting, that fire of passion that I so desperately craved.

Reflecting on that terse exchange with Demas, I looked somberly at Wulfstan and wondered if my passionate longings and stubbornness were not going to be my undoing.

He extended his arm, and we walked together toward the stables. The air was alive with anticipation. A hunt had been planned for immediately following the mass. The king; his brother, Alfred; my father; Demas; and all of the noblemen of the court were to take part. There was organized chaos all around as men, stable lads, stewards, and pages readied horses, spears, and swords.

“How goes the news of the hunt this morning?” I asked.

“Superbly,” Wulfstan replied. “Just before mass, the huntsman was scouting with his lymer, and the dog sniffed out a most noble quarry. A buck has been found, and the huntsman assured the king it was a hart of ten.” He looked south into the wall of trees that bordered the courtyard, as if trying to discern the accuracy of the statement for himself. “A deer at this time of year is a great prize for any hunting party, but a mature one with ten points on his antlers…” He whistled. “That is game they will tell tales about for generations to come.”

I suppressed a smile. While a hart of ten was magnificent, it wasn't rare or impossible. My father had caught one just this spring. But given the general buzz of excitement coursing through the crowd, I gathered all the men considered it a worthy challenge.

The women were adding their own distinctive touch to the frenzied energy, cooing and flirting until the atmosphere around the royal manor felt more like a Saturnalia festival than a pious Christian one. I caught a glance of Ealhswith doting on Alfred as he made ready to mount his horse. He wore a stunning red jacket with gold embroidery along the edges and a mantle made from the pelt of a bear. He laughed at something Ealhswith said, kissed her cheek, and then swung up into the saddle. He swept her a deep bow and took his place at his brother's side.

The Ecgberht brothers made quite an attractive pair. Aethelred was taller than Alfred, and wore his auburn hair slightly longer, but they both had the same warm brown eyes, slender face, and rosy mouth.

All around me, women were giving trinkets of good luck to the men of their choice. I had nothing to give Wulfstan, so I just smiled. “Good luck,” I said as he pulled himself up onto his horse.

He flashed a brilliant smile. I kicked myself again for rejecting him. “Good day, Lady Avelynn,” he replied, and spurred his horse into action, trotting away from me.

Demas was mounted next to my father. They were laughing. I scowled. Maybe they should be the ones getting married. I set my hands on my hips and brewed with righteous ire. A pair of familiar arms embraced me from behind. My annoyance melted immediately. I turned and grabbed the gloved hands in mine.

“How are you, my friend?” I asked.

Ealhswith always looked radiant. But now she positively glowed. Her skin was luminous, and her straight coppery hair, brushed to a brilliant sheen, contrasted vibrantly with the rich green of her dress. Unlike other married women, Ealhswith didn't hide her hair under a wimple. The only reason she wasn't reprimanded by the bishops was because Alfred liked her hair unbound. She had been right—being married to the brother of the king had its advantages. But not every custom was negotiable, and she did have to make one sacrifice. The church mandated that she cut her hair to the middle of her back, so all would know she was no longer a virgin.

“I'm much better than you, I think.” She inclined her head in Demas's direction.

“Humph.”

“I see.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me to the main hall.

The huntsman blew his horn, and all the women bustled back away from the stables. The tethered hounds were released, and a host of fur and teeth started off in fervent pursuit of the quarry, barking and yapping in earnest. The huntsman and his dogs were followed by all the king's men, as they rallied with raucous shouts of anticipation, speeding off in search of their prey, a flurry of hooves kicking up turf and dirt in their wake.

King Aethelred's wife, Wulfrida, was rounding up the women, escorting them back to her chambers, where we were to await our heroes' faithful return from their quest. Ealhswith steered me in the opposite direction, and we ducked into the great hall.

The hall was decorated with fresh evergreen boughs and beautiful wall-clothing. The head table was at the east end on a raised dais, and there was a large space in front that would serve as the stage for this afternoon's entertainment. It sat empty save for a single lyre leaning against a stool in the corner. The feasting tables were placed around the room, several rows deep, so that they encircled the central hearth where the great Yule log burned steadily. Each table was adorned with rich, colorful linen and crowned with a magnificent centerpiece of wooden birds. Carved in a dizzying array of shapes and sizes, the birds were arranged in nests of dried and fresh greenery. A life-size swan embellished the head table, its stately presence peering over the table and stage below. Bread trenchers marked each man's place. Glass and bone drinking horns rested beside each trencher, and oil lamps and candle trees lit up the hall until it shimmered with elegance and finery.

“Wulfrida outdid herself.”

“She's been preparing for the three-day feast for the past three months,” Ealhswith said, and steered me away from the head table to one of the simple benches at the farthest end of the hall. These would be the seats for the lower classes and lesser thegns.

She yanked me down onto the bench. “What's going on with you? Last we spoke, you were determined to get out of this betrothal, yet today your father announces your engagement at court?”

“My father has been impossible. Marriage is his decision, not mine. However, I did come here willing to give Demas another chance.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Really?”

I shrugged. “I received a vision and decided to proceed with the courtship.”

“A vision?” She dropped her voice into a whisper. “Avelynn, you know I accept your faith, but there are others here, despite your father's position at court, who would see you hang for such talk.”

I nodded, remembering my surroundings. “Regardless, while I may be willing to give Demas another opportunity to captivate me, I haven't agreed to marriage.”

The look in Ealhswith's eyes told me she doubted I'd have a choice, but I chose to ignore it.

“Now, enough about me.” I straightened, eyeing her slim figure. “How is my goddaughter ever to get big and strong if you don't get big and fat?”

She was reluctant to let the topic go, but a discussion about her unborn child proved too tempting to ignore. After a few moments of pleasant chatter, our hiding place was discovered by an austere and rather disagreeable matron charged with the task of commandeering us, and we were marshaled to Wulfrida's chambers to join the rest of the women.

Wessex was a large territory. It would take a stealthy messenger seven days to navigate from one end to the other. Feast days were an opportune time to catch up on the country's affairs, since noblemen and their wives attended from all over the region.

Stifling an epidemic of yawns, I learned who had given birth in the past year, who had died, how the harvest had fared in each part of the country, and how easily the taxes had been levied. It was a great relief to hear the huntsman's horn, heralding the men's victorious return from the hunt. Women scurried and bustled to grab cloaks and gloves, and the men thundered to the stables.

Under the watchful eyes of the stable marshal, grooms quickly whisked the horses away to be washed down and fed. Pages scurried to the kitchens. Two strapping young lads carried the prize to one of the cooking pits, the stag hanging upside down, its legs tied to spear shafts. Everyone else converged on the hall for supper.

Weapons were not permitted inside, save a small knife, which would serve as the only eating utensil. Spears, swords, shields, and axes were all left leaning against the outer walls, several armed sentries in charge of their keep. The atmosphere was jovial, everyone reveling in tales from the hunt as we followed the king inside. Cleaning bowls had been set up, and servants stood by with fresh towels so we could wash our hands before sitting.

King Aethelred and Wulfrida sat at the head table, Alfred and Ealhswith to their left, Bishop Ealhferth to their right. Our party sat nearest the hearth, and I was maneuvered diplomatically so that Demas sat immediately to my right, with my father, and Ealdorman Aethelwulf of Berkshire and his wife, Cyneburga, sitting in succession next to him.

Aethelred stood. “Welcome, friends.” He spread his arms to encompass the entire hall. “May God keep you safe, healthy, and well this Christmastide and through the year to come.” This oration was met with a resounding clamor as men pounded their fists on the tables, shouting, “Hear, hear!” or “May God keep you well, my lord!” or some such other apposite discourse.

Aethelred picked up his drinking horn and waited as Wulfrida came round the front of the table. She curtsied to her lord and husband and fetched a pitcher of wine from a waiting steward. She poured the rich garnet liquid into his drinking horn and he raised it high, waiting.

Ealhswith joined Wulfrida, and together with several pages, they went from table to table filling drinking horns, each man standing in turn, holding his horn high in response.

The two women were complete opposites. Wulfrida was older, more matronly, with an austere countenance, her long black hair bound in volutes and hidden under her wimple. Ealhswith, on the other hand, chatted animatedly with the men she served, her hair flowing softly down her back.

With the first round of cups filled, Wulfrida and Ealhswith returned to the head table.

“Waeshael! Be well!” Aethelred hailed, and downed the contents of his horn.

“Drinkhael! Drink and be well!” each man replied. Horns lifted in unison and men swallowed, not stopping until they finished every last drop.