Black Pearls (21 page)

The spray and the noise of the flood were fearsome, and with each step my hands nearly slipped from Felicity's broad back. But it was not until we were halfway across that I saw the goat and fully woke to the peril I was in. The old nanny, who must have thought, just as we had, to cross the stream at its narrowest point, was sailing like an ungainly bark downstream. She wore a bell that rang as she struggled against the torrent. She swept past us, bleating in chorus with the bell, and I thanked heaven for my horse's size. When the poor doomed creature's head disappeared under a swell, I closed my eyes and prayed. By the time I opened them, we had nearly gained the far bank. Then, just as we got close enough to smell the sweet woodruff in the woods beyond the shore and to touch the broken timbers of the bridge that floated past us, Felicity stumbled.

Perhaps she stepped into a hole on the river's bottom, or maybe one of the wooden beams that surrounded us knocked her off-balance. Suddenly, in less time than it takes to tell, I had lost my good horse. For as she fell, I went tumbling, too, and though I tried to grab hold of the reins and pull myself back to her side, I could not. Instead, I found myself caught up in a great rush of water that rose beneath me and then swallowed me whole.

I tasted brine and grit and watched great shadows flit past me under the brook. They may have been fish or turtles, but,
spinning and choking, I fancied they were mothers and babes, carried past me by the same current that held me in its sway. Spun round and round, in fear for my life, I mourned only two things: as I was dashed to the bottom of the stream, my hands and feet raking clots of mud, I yearned to undo the moment I had turned Felicity toward town that morning. As I prepared to die, I pictured myself pulling her short, instead, and leaning down from her saddle. I saw myself bending to Leofric, who whispered in my ear what he had wanted to tell me at the stables. "Do not go," he begged, tears in his eyes. "Do not leave me."

My other regret, the last thing I thought as the river pummeled and tossed me, was how sorry I felt that I had not kissed the baby Ebba on her forehead, had not set a tiny seal of forgiveness there—a damp print of love.

When we are most in need of His salvation, and are most repentant for our sins, the Good Lord comes to our aid. For as I felt my world grow black and my will to live snuffed out like a candle, I was suddenly pushed once more to the surface of the water. There, I grabbed one of the floating timbers, a plank that, thank Providence, was still attached to the bridge's foundation on shore. From this desperate perch, I looked out to where Felicity now scrambled in the middle of the flood. I shouted her name above the water's din, but though she thrashed and paddled furiously, without her four great legs set on its bottom she could not fight the river.

Imagine, then, my anguish as I saw my beautiful mare swept like the nanny before her, kicking and splashing, downstream. In vain I called, in vain I reached for her tangled reins which, for a moment, danced under the current in front of me. What I retrieved from the swirling foam was only a trailing vine and, caught in its tendrils, the torn cloak in which I'd ridden here.

I cursed the water that had returned the cloak and not my faithful mare. But I dared not let go the splintered shaft of wood that bound me to land, and so was forced to watch my horse, whinnying in terror, carried away from me. I followed her course, and only when her thrashing body disappeared around the river's furthest bend did I make good my own escape.

Hand over hand, caring not for the cuts the wood gave me or for the tears that streamed down my face, I worked my way along the beam to shore. I dragged myself up the steep bank, then sat with my head in my hands and wept. I grieved for my lost horse and for my long-dead daughter. I repented, too, the rashness with which I had flouted my husband's will.

Though I could do nothing to bring back the dead, it was not too late, I realized with a swelling, hopeful heart, to undo the hurt I had caused the living. I resolved, wet and shivering in the shade of the forest that bordered the flood, to beg forgiveness from Leofric, to tell him how the lost babe came between us each time he sought my love. Perhaps, I thought, remembering his face in the stables, God would yet send us a healthy child. Hadn't He blessed Rebekah with twins after twenty years of barrenness? Hadn't Rachel given birth to Joseph? And Sarah to Isaac? I was not, of course, an ancient worthy like Sarah or Rachel. I was immoderate and hot-tempered, but Our Savior had died for just such as me. I rose up, my tears dried, and followed the road home.

I suppose I looked like some giant butterfly, flapping the old cloak as I walked. The steady rhythm and the relief of the sun on my skin soon restored my spirits. As I drew closer to the castle, I continued to make babes, not in the usual manner, of course, but in my head. They gamboled sweetly there, already grown old enough to romp and play with their glad parents. In my visions, Leofric and I joined hands to race with our little ones through meadows like the very fields I passed. When my imaginary infants tired, or when Leofric threatened to break our chain with his giant strides, we all fell to the ground laughing.

My cloak was dry by the time I spied the western tower and came to the road from the stables. A lone figure on horseback approached me, and I stopped to see who it might be. As the rider drew near, I heard a long, keening wail, a howl that set my teeth on edge and sucked the warmth from my bones. I shivered in the dark of that sound only a moment. For what I saw as the rider drew nearer still is a memory that has lodged itself in my grateful heart and which I hope to take to heaven when I die.

It was my husband, my Leofric, who came toward me, riding a horse I never thought to see again. Felicity whinnied as she spied me and tossed her head. Her master, though, did not glance up but rode with his eyes closed, tears coursing down his face.
Without a saddle, his long legs hung limp, he sported neither boots nor cap. The Earl of Mercia, moaning as he rode, wore no tunic or leggings, no cloak or vest. He was naked as he was born.

"Sweet Godiva," he cried aloud, though he addressed the air, not me. "Forgive my sins. Forgive my grievous sins."

Before we lost Nayla, I had lain beside my lord. I had even found the battle scars on his shoulder and waist, had run my fingers over their toughened edges, and, yes, placed my lips there once to heal old wounds. But never had I met his body in the sunlight, seen how small and vulnerable it was against the great sky.

I ran to him and took his hands in mine. "I forgive you, my dear," I told him. "And ask only that you do the same for me."

Leofric trembled at my touch. Through his tears, he studied me as if I were a queen, an angel, Mary Herself. "I thought you drowned," he said. He slipped from the horse and knelt before me, his arms around my knees. "I thought you lost."

The sight of my husband at my feet, his pale shoulders and the small, tender bone at the base of his neck, overwhelmed me. All the fine speeches I had practiced on the way home flew out of my head.

"Do not go," he said. His voice was a whisper like the one I had heard on the river's bottom. Like a dream dreamt twice, his words, too, were the same. "Do not leave me."

"I shall not go." I placed my hand on his head and held him as if he were a babe. "I shall not go." Behind us, Felicity stamped, impatient to be off again, but we paid her no mind.

When at last my fond husband stood, it was only to hold me

again. He wrapped me in his arms and whispered more endearments. "You told me everything you have is mine," he said. "But when I thought you dead, I found that
I
had nothing left, nothing at all."

"But, sire—"

"I swore then that I would ride to church." His body had ceased trembling, and his voice grew stronger. "I would beg God's forgiveness if I could not have yours."

"You have it, good my lord."

"And I would ride as I had forced you to ride." He released me then and turned away. "Naked and alone."

I did not speak. Instead, I brought his face to mine and pressed my lips on his. No need to chatter on about my visit to Ædre, to tell how Felicity and I had come to dare the Cune. Those stories could wait. For now, we had said all that needed saying, and there was only one thing to do.

Leofric lifted me to my horse, and because he could not bear to let me go, climbed up behind me. Though she had never carried us both, Felicity set out eagerly and brought us home almost as quickly as we wished to be there. We left her in the keeping of a groom and then sped, old lovers made new, to my chambers.

I like to think that it was that very night when Ælfgar was conceived. I choose to believe that those enchanted hours, in which I learned again my husband's mysteries and he mine, were a joy that bred more joy. Nine months later, our son was born.

Like his father, Ælfgar was strong and well formed. As he grew, scenes like the ones I had imagined on my walk from the river were often played out. For he and Leofric loved to wrestle and frolic, to test each other's mettle in mock jousts or play at cock of the roost. They would sometimes include me in their capers, especially if they had need of a damsel to capture, or a keeper of scores. But there was between them a special bond, a love that springs up among men. It is not so much a secret that shuts women out as a rough-and-tumble place we cannot go.

Nor did I need more than to watch my two fine fellows at play. I had my own bond, my own sweet companion in the land of women. For, you see, I did go back to the old woman's house and to the babe who'd been born there. With my husband's permission, I visited often, and though Fride soon married and gave the girl a father, I became a sort of kindly aunt to Ebba and her family.

Like my son, Leofric's daughter grew daily more comely and blithe. Though she seldom saw the earl or her half brother, little Ebba knew no want. The jewels I had left in her great-grandmother's care were spent on a stone house to replace their thatched hovel and a cow whose milk sold far better than honey. Before the old woman died, their state had risen so far above that of the other villagers that townsfolk took to calling them
ealfrende,
"earl's kin."

"Auntie! Auntie!" The little girl would run to meet me as soon as I stepped down from my horse. Each time she had a long list of childish triumphs and disasters to recite. "My rabbit has the grippe," she would say, "and Father will not let me fish. I picked three apples, but no one will show me how to bake a pie."

"Well, my dear," I'd say, smiling down at her upturned face, "a witch once told me that apples are good for ailing rabbits." I would take her hand, as excited as she. "Let us see if it is true."

While I loved my son and thanked Our Savior each day for his sturdy limbs and sunny spirit, Ebba needed me more. When her mother told her no, I laughed and whispered yes. When her father thrashed her for her pranks, I slipped her trinkets and toys. In short, the child intoxicated me, and I spoiled her until she was as proud and willful as a princess.

I was not surprised, then, when, in her eighth summer, my "niece" complained that Fride had punished her for no good reason. "Mother is making me rebuild our wall," she told me, not even waiting till I had come inside. "She says I am not to kick and throw rocks at villains."

"What villains?" I asked, laughing, taking her hand in mine.

"The boys who sing the song about a lady on a horse." She frowned and stamped a dark curl out of place, so that it fell across one eye. "
Ride a cock horse to Coventry Cross
..." She sang in a flat, tuneless voice. "...
to see a bare lady upon a gray horse...
"

Though I had never heard the ditty before, I knew its subject all too well. As Ebba sang, I saw again the crowd in the streets, the stupefied stares, the consternation.

"
No mantle or dress, no gown to her name, only her hair to cover her shame.
" When she had finished, the girl pulled her hand from mine and pointed to a hole in the garden wall. "I took the stones from there," she told me. "And I threw them at those rude boys until they ran away."

"I see." I let the girl lead me to the wall, where the missing stones left a gap the size of a small dog. At least ten fat stones had been pried from their nests. "And just why," I asked, "did you see fit to answer their song with kicks and volleys?"

Ebba's dark eyes narrowed and she folded her arms. "They said the song was about you, Auntie. Of course, I called them rogues and liars."

"Oh, my dear," I told her, "you must not let wagging tongues hurt you so."

"I shall not, Auntie. I made them change the song."

"Howe'er did you manage that?"

The girl smiled slyly. "Two of the scoundrels—Eadmund was one, Wilfrid, the other—came back next day to show me the bruises on their ankles." Her smile grew wider, and I doubted her mother's scolding had taken root at all. "I pledged to deal them twice the blows if they did not tell the truth. I told them your horse is white, as any fool can see." She nodded at Felicity's foal, Fidelity, who was, indeed, white, and whom I had taken to riding since her dam now saw fit to do nothing more taxing than crop grass by the stable.