Enchantress Mine (6 page)

The tall Saxon hesitated, but then catching Dagda’s curious gaze he walked up to him and asked, “Do you speak English? Is the child for sale?”

Slowly Dagda nodded, and scanning the depths of his memory, spoke the correct English words. “What would you want with her?” His look was fierce, and extremely protective.

“My name is Aldwine Athelsbeorn. I am a king’s thegn, and my estate is in Mercia. My little daughter died this past spring, and my wife cannot cease her grieving. This child reminds me of our Edyth.”

“You would buy her to give her to your wife?” Dagda’s heart pounded. Aldwine Athelsbeorn’s face was one that concealed nothing. It was an honest face marked by life, yet kindly.

“Is the child your daughter?” the Saxon inquired, curious.

“Nay, sir,” returned Dagda. Then he began to speak quickly in a low voice, hoping that Fren and his assistants would be kept busy long enough for him to make sense to the Saxon. This, he realized, was their way to escape from Fren! “The child’s parents are dead, and her stepmother sold her off in order that she might steal my lady’s inheritance. The child is of the nobility in Brittany, sir. I was her mother’s servant, but now I am a freedman. It is a very long story. In the name of the good Jesu, sir, I beg you buy the child! I will pledge myself to your service for five years or more to repay you whatever expense you may incur. The slaver would transport my lady to Byzantium, and sell her to a lustful pervert!”

Aldwine Athelsbeorn did not even question Dagda’s word in the matter. He was an educated man in a time when few were. Although the giant’s words shocked him, he knew enough of the dark side of human nature not to disbelieve him. Suddenly all his previous hesitancy fell away and brushing Fren’s other customers aside he demanded in an authoritative voice, “What price on the child, slaver? I fancy her as a serving maid for my wife.”

“The child is not for sale, sir,” replied Fren.

“Not for sale? What trick is this you attempt to play, slaver?” The Saxon’s voice had risen now so that he was beginning to attract a small crowd. “If the child is not for sale, then why is she wearing a slave collar, displayed here for all to see? Is it that you seek to gain an unfair profit, or perhaps use her for immoral purposes? Speak up, man!”

Fren’s face grew mottled with nervousness, and he sputtered impotently but no intelligible words could be heard.

“By our Blessed Lady Mary, that is what this rogue intends!” the Saxon shouted. Turning, he appealed to the jostling and interested crowd. “This low fellow would offer this little one, who is practically still a baby, for vile usage! Can we allow such a thing, my friends? Will someone not fetch a priest to try and bring this wicked fellow to repentance? Find me the sheriff! This villain had displayed the child in order to appeal to the evil ones, but I, Aldwine Athelsbeorn, King Edward’s thegn, have found him out!” finished the Saxon dramatically.

The crowd, seeing little Mairin’s innocent beauty, which Dagda, entering into the spirit of the Saxon’s game, displayed by lifting the child up so she might be viewed by all, began to mutter ominously and shake their fists at Fren. The English loved their children for children were a man’s immortality. Then one fellow, a bit brighter perhaps than the others, called out, “Why do you seek to buy the child, Aldwine Athelsbeorn? Are your motives pure?” The crowd’s interest swung from the slaver to the thegn.

“This child reminds me of my dead daughter,” said Aldwine Athelsbeorn. “I would bring her home to soothe my grieving wife. There is no crime in that.”

“How do we know he speaks the truth?” cried another voice from the crowd, and looking toward Fren, Dagda saw one of his two assistants was missing.

The Saxon proudly drew himself up. “I am Aldwine Athelsbeorn, Kind Edward’s thegn. In Mercia there is none who would doubt either my words, my motives or my courage!”

“This ain’t Mercia! This be London!”

The crowd was becoming dangerous. Dagda’s arms wrapped themselves protectively about his charge. For a minute he had thought the clever Saxon could use the crowd to his own advantage, but alas it hadn’t worked. He looked to see whether or not in the ensuing uproar that was sure to transpire he might not make good his escape with Mairin. The collar about her neck did, however, pose a problem for it was too tight for him to cut or even get a grip upon so he might break it open and free her; but he would solve that problem after he brought his lady to safety.

Then suddenly amid the din he heard cries of, “Make way for Bishop Wulfstan!” and the angry crowd parted to allow the powerful and popular churchman through. “Well, Aldwine?” said the bishop sternly, but Dagda saw a twinkle in his eyes. Reaching the platform where they all stood, he demanded, “What is this all about?”

“Look at this child, my lord bishop. Does she not remind you of our little Edyth, may God assoil her innocent soul. I wish to buy this little girl to bring home to my Eada so that perhaps she will cease her lamentations over our daughter and live again. She has mourned without ceasing since the spring. The slave merchant displays the child, but then demurs on selling her to me. I believe he seeks to use the child wrongfully.”

The bishop glanced at Mairin, but if there was a resemblance between this beautiful little girl and Athelsbeorn’s dead daughter, he could not see it. Oh, Edyth had been about the same age probably, and she had red hair, but it was hardly the glorious color of this child’s hair. Still if his friend could see a resemblance, and if he wished to rescue this pretty creature so that he might ease his wife’s pain and give her a new interest, then it was a good and a Christian thing that he did.

He glared fiercely at the slaver, and did not like the look of him. “The child is displayed, which under our laws means that she is for sale,” he said. “The price for a child of tender years is set at five copper pennies. You must therefore sell the child to the Thegn of Aelfleah. What is your name, man?”

“F-F-Fren, your lordship.”

“Fren?”
The bishop’s brow furrowed for a moment. “Fren,” he repeated thoughtfully, and then a knowledgeable look sprang into his eyes. “There was a slaver in York two years ago who was called Fren, and when he departed that city nearly a dozen women including two of good families were missing.” The bishop’s voice was soft, but beneath the softness Fren heard the ominous threat. No one could connect the slave merchant with the disappearance of those young women, Fren knew; but Bishop Wulfstan was a powerful man and he could spoil everything that Fren had worked hard to build.

He glanced at Mairin with her wonderful hair, and those perfect features on that flawless skin. For a moment he contemplated challenging the cleric’s authority, then decided against it. He had not lived this long and prospered in his business by being an emotional fool. With a deep sigh of regret he allowed logic to prevail within him as it did in all his dealings. She was lovely, and she would have brought him a fortune in Byzantium. She was not, however, worth destroying a lifetime of hard work, which was what it would come to should he persist in attempting to retain her.

“If the noble thegn will step this way,” Fren said loudly and unctuously, “I will take his coppers, and we will finalize the sale of the child.”

With murmurs of disappointment the crowd began to melt away. The short drama was over. Eager to be rid of Aldwine Athelsbeorn and Bishop Wulfstan, Fren scribbled a bill of sale for the Saxon, took his copper pennies, and unlocking the collar from around Mairin’s neck said, “She is now yours, noble thegn. Take her and depart.” Then he laughed ruefully. “You have made a better bargain than you possibly know. The Irish giant is her personal guardian, but then he will tell you. If your desire for the child is an honest one you have gained a man-at-arms as well. If, however, your desire is an unholy one, the giant will undoubtedly kill you.”

Aldwine Athelsbeorn looked at Dagda, and said but one word, “Come.” Then in the company of the bishop he strode off down the street, and away from the marketplace.

Safe in Dagda’s arms Mairin finally spoke. “What is it? Where are we going?” She could see Fren behind them sifting some coppers from one hand to another while he regretfully watched their departure.

Dagda explained to his small mistress what had happened, and the little girl nodded her understanding. “Then I belong to this Saxon now,” she said.

“He is a good man, this Aldwine Athelsbeorn. I can see it in his eyes,” replied Dagda. “He will take you home to his wife. You will be safe if his wife likes you. If she cannot overcome her own grief, and your presence distresses her, I will work for the thegn until our debt is paid. Then we will depart for Ireland to find your mother’s family.”

“Am I still a slave?”

“Saxons do not hold with slavery any longer, my little lady. You may trust that you were free from the moment the thegn paid Fren his coppers.” He chuckled. “I do not think this is quite the fate the lady Blanche envisioned for you. It restores my faith that God has seen to your safety in the guise of the thegn.”

“What is this thegn, Dagda? Is he a noble like my father?”

Dagda thought a moment. “Yes,” he said, “thegns could be called nobles. They are freemen with large holdings of land. They may also possess other forms of wealth. From the richness of his clothing, his cultured speech, and the fine brooch he wears, I suspect that Aldwine Athelsbeorn is a wealthy man, and perhaps more educated than most. Certainly he must have some influence, for this bishop was willing to aid him.”

They followed the Saxon and Bishop Wulfstan through the streets, along the riverbank, and had Dagda not been such a big man himself he would have been hard put to keep up with them. Finally they entered a small well-kept two-story house. The building was set next to an orchard on the edge of the city itself. Two well-dressed servants hurried to escort them into the hall of the house where a fire burned taking the chill from the damp afternoon.

“Sit down, sit down,” the thegn said to the bishop, and to Dagda. Then he looked to his servants. “Bring wine,” he said quietly, and he turned to Dagda. “Tell us the child’s story, but first I would know your name.”

“I am called Dagda mac Scolaighe. Once I was a warrior to be feared, but the priests brought me to Christ, and a king in Ulster gave me his child, Maire Tir Connell, to raise. My lady Maire wed when she was fifteen to a Breton nobleman, Ciaran St. Ronan. Shortly after she bore their child she died, but before her death she put my lady Mairin into my keeping as her father had once done with her. After several years my lord remarried to a woman who hated my small mistress, and when lord St. Ronan died of the injuries he suffered in an accident, this wicked creature sold my little lady to the slaver Fren.”

“Why?” The question was put to him by Bishop Wulfstan.

“The lady Blanche was expecting her own child. She feared if it were a female then it would be my mistress, of course, who would be the heiress to Landerneau, her father’s estate. By ridding herself of her dead husband’s elder child she opened the way for her own. She did not even wait to learn the sex of her own child. There was no one to protect my lady Mairin but me, and what power would a poor man have over a nobleman’s widow? None of my lord’s family was left to oppose her actions. Landerneau is remote, and so who would protest the child’s disappearance?” Dagda had deliberately left out the fact that Blanche St. Ronan had managed to have Mairin declared a bastard by the bishop of St. Brieuc. Churchmen were notorious for sticking together in a situation although this bishop Wulfstan did not look like a man to be fooled. Still the man was a stranger as far as Dagda was concerned, and he couldn’t be too careful with his lady’s reputation. It was unlikely they would ever be involved with the lady Blanche and her uncle again. He had Mairin to protect. His story was a simple and plausible one. It was not unheard-of for a second wife to try to rid herself of children from the first marriage.

Bishop Wulfstan nodded with understanding. “This Blanche St. Ronan does not sound like an admirable woman,” he noted with great understatement. “You have done a good thing, Aldwine, my friend. I think this child will prove a solace to your wife’s grief. Eada is a good and gentle woman. The child’s story will touch her heart.” He looked at Mairin. “Why does the child not speak, Dagda? She does not look simple.”

A small smile touched the corners of Dagda’s mouth. “I have learned the English tongue because I fought the English at one time, but my lady Mairin, although born in Ireland, has lived most of her short life in Brittany, and speaks only Breton or Norman French. She is intelligent, however, and will learn quickly.”

Aldwine Athelsbeorn looked at Mairin, and smiled his gentle smile. She was probably the loveliest thing he had ever seen. Holding out his hand to her he said in careful Norman French, “Come to me, my child. Do you understand me?”

“Aye, my lord,” said Mairin, and she slipped from Dagda’s lap, and walked over to the Saxon thegn.

“Mairin,” he said reflectively. “It is not a Breton name.”

“No, my lord, it is not,” replied the child. “It is an Irish name. I was named for my mother, Maire. Mairin means little Maire in my mother’s native tongue. May I have some wine? I am very thirsty.”

He offered the child his cup, and she sipped eagerly from it, smiling up at him as she handed it back. “I am going to take you home with me to my wife,” he told her.

She nodded. “Dagda has explained to me that your own daughter died this spring past. What was her name?”

“It was Edyth.”

“Was she pretty? How old was she? What did she die of?” The questions tumbled forth from Mairin’s mouth.

“Her mother and I thought she was pretty,” he answered her. “She died of a spring sickness. She would have been six this summer. How old are you, Mairin?”

“I will be six on Samhein,” she said proudly. “They say I am wise beyond my years. Where do you live? I hope not in this awful city!”