Lady of the Lake (21 page)

Edon saw no clear pathways. Tala’s quick and sure step convinced him she was familiar with the way she traveled. They quickly came to a peculiar break in the land—a rocky escarpment thrusting straight up from the forest floor, like a sheared-off mountain cleaved by a giant’s axe. The top boasted a stand of rowan trees and seven upright standing stones. At the base of the cliff grew limes.

Tala led Edon to one side, where the cliff fell back to the earth. There a thicket of briars nourished by a sluggish beck made any forward progress impossible. Edon put his knee to the earth and cupped his hands in the water, assuaging his thirst and splashing more of the cool liquid on his face and throat to wash away his sweat.

“Are you lost, Tala?” Edon asked finally.

Tala watched a few drops of water fall off his chin and dot the soft suede of his jerkin. She smiled, and shook her head, then stepped onto a stone that poked out of the leafy debris. A narrow passage appeared through the briars.
Edon gazed at passage and rock, knowing there was a lever and fulcrum hidden under the stone.

“It’s not very wide, but Mother Wren passes without getting scratched. Can you squeeze through?”

“Aye,” Edon said doubtfully. “Were I an armless dwarf.” He turned sideways and crouched, having concluded he had to go first while she stood on the fulcrum. Midway in, he called back, “How do you get in?”

“Oh, there’s a trick to it. Keep going.”

She kept a careful eye on his progress, watching the thorns catch at his vest. He’d forgotten he carried the knapsack and had to wrench the cloth free. The moment he stepped into a clearing before an oak grove, Tala released the fulcrum. The gap closed behind him with the cracking and shivering of branches. Spiny leaves again formed an impenetrable wall.

“Tala!” Edon shouted. “Where’s the other end of the mechanism?”

“There isn’t one. Wait right there!” Tala called from beyond the hedgerow. “I’ll join you before you see the sun above the top of the oak trees.”

Her laugh told him two things: she didn’t want him to know the quickest way into her grove, and she was delighted that she’d played him for a fool. Edon looked at the oaks and the sky above them. The sun was still low enough to be hidden by the trees. The hedgerow fanned out as far as he could see in both directions.

He sat down and waited, taking the knapsack from his back. Clumps of yellow goatsbeard grew abundantly in the rock-strewn clearing. The grass was short, heavily grazed. Numerous droppings told him this was stabling ground for horses. It looked more like the woodland he remembered.

The wait had become tedious by the time Tala emerged from under the great oaks. She’d changed her clothes and freed her hair from its braids. Her slender body, gowned
in a scanty dress, was bare armed and bare legged. A coronet of blue violets and rosy mallows encircled her head.

“My apologies, Lord Edon,” she said uncertainly. “I wanted to welcome you to Arden Wood properly, my lord.”

He started to tell her that he hadn’t come here for a romp with a woodland nymph. He rose to his feet and the sun burst over the top of the oaks and blinded him. When he put up his hand to shade his eyes, she chortled in delight.

“Ah, I’m not late. I came exactly when I promised.” She caught hold of his hand. That felt strange; he wasn’t used to anyone holding it. Instead of leading, she walked beside him. “I have displeased you.”

It was a flat statement, not a question. He gazed at her upturned face. “No, you do not displease me. You puzzle me. We did not come here to play. I agreed to do this because you implied I would find answers to the questions I asked you yesterday.”

“Yes.” Tala nodded.

“Are you a witch, Tala ap Griffin?”

“Some people say so. I don’t see my powers as witchcraft. Come, it is easier to show you what I mean than to explain it. Do you know of the legends of King Arthur and his magician, Merlin?”

“I have heard a hundred tales, each more fantastic than the last. Which part of the epic do you wish to discuss?”

“None of it—all of it.” Tala shrugged. “Some say Merlin was born being able to see into men’s hearts and foretell the future. All other things he learned by shape shifting, by becoming the owl, the deer, the salmon in the stream.”

Edon stopped walking. The oaks had thinned and the lake shimmered before him. Its placid surface lay as motionless as a platter of polished silver. The sight took him back ten years, seeing the lake exactly as he’d seen it as
a youth. The bank was much wider, the level of the water lowered by the long drought.

On the distant shore, swans paddled in and out of a stand of reeds, dipping into the still water to eat the rich vegetation.

“It is nearly as I remember,” Edon said at last, “save for one thing. Ten years ago there was a spire marking where a temple once stood. It was in ruins when I saw it, but I could tell it had been a very beautiful shrine. The shape of it was a horseshoe, the two sides folding around the upright spire. I expect water affected the building. Wood and wattle and daub disintegrates. That’s a pity.”

“The ruin you describe is known as the Citadel of Glass by my people. You don’t see it now?”

“No. Isn’t the Citadel of Glass the castle of the Lady of the Lake, according to legend?”

“So it is,” Tala agreed. “It is said that only the pure of heart can see the citadel. You are very fortunate to have seen it. King Alfred has also seen it.”

“Has he?”

“Yes. The year he turned ten and seven. He came here to be healed of an infirmity that troubles his belly.”

“You know this for a fact?” Edon said.

“Yes, I was there. I witnessed all of it. I was just a small girl, not as old as my youngest sisters, Lacey and Audrey, but I already knew that Alfred would be a great and magnificent king. If you ask him of this, he will confirm that every word I say is true.”

“Ahh.” Edon sighed. She told an intriguing story, but that’s all it was. “You said he came here to be cured of the ague that affects his bowels. But he was not cured. He is troubled by that affliction to this day.”

“That was Alfred’s choice. He refused the cure. He was very young and steeped in the myths of his beloved church. His brother was king and Alfred was his general, the commander of all the king’s troops. It was too great a
responsibility to put on the shoulders of so young a man. That was what made him sick.”

“Why did he refuse the cure?”

“I believe he had a vision of the troubles of the king of Britain—maybe all of the kings, past, present and future. He stood close to the throne and knew that it cost a man his life to be king. Alfred wanted to live. So he went away from Leam and would not take the waters. To this day he will drink none of the healing water of Leam.”

Tala’s head tilted more in that quizzical manner as she continued to stare intently at Edon’s face, watching his eyes and every facet of his expression. He laughed bluntly and tapped her nose. “What are you looking for? Have I grown a huge wart on the end of my nose?”

“No, you haven’t. You really don’t see it, do you?”

Edon’s momentary playfulness faded. He looked at the sparkling lake and then back at her lovely face. “See what, Tala? I see much. A lake that is more beautiful than any ford in Denmark. A hut and a clearing where too many animals have eaten the grass to the roots. The sun and a cloudless sky.”

He laughed again, that short, clipped laugh that was more a bark or a scoff than true laughter. “Am I supposed to see a great glass spire and pinnacle with a golden altar floating above the middle of the lake?”

“It is there,” Tala assured him. “Not in the middle, no, but to the left of King Offa’s hunting lodge.”

“There is nothing there,” Edon replied firmly. “Your imagination intrigues me. Now why bring King Offa into the tale?”

“He explains how Alfred and I are related. Offa’s mother was from the clan of the white dragons, and his daughter married into the golden dragons, Alfred’s clan.”

Again Edon touched her nose. “Are there no bears up your family tree?”

“There could be. There is now to be a wolf.”

“Ah, so there is.” Edon’s gaze returned to the lake. He swung the pack off his shoulder, tossing it to the grassy knoll beside an oak. Then he settled on the grass, saying “I would be content to spend out my days here. It is a spellbinding sight. The water is low. Is the fishing still good?”

Tala opened the knapsack and took out a tin cup. “Aye, the fish bite when they may. We never go hungry. I’ll get you a drink of water.”

Edon expected her to go to the lake, but she went instead to one of the nearby streams. She came back with the cup brimming and knelt beside him. Edon propped his good hand on the ground, taking the cup from her in his bandaged right hand. Tala sat on her heels, waiting.

The cup was so full, water soaked the bandage as he quenched his thirst. It was cold and pure, deliciously fresh from an underground spring.

“Do you want some?” Edon offered.

“No, drink your fill. There is plenty more.”

“Ah, so this water you will fetch and carry for me, will you?” Edon drained the cup and handed it back to her. “Don’t get up. I’m quite satisfied for now.”

“The bandage is wet. Let me unwind it and hang it to dry.”

“Now I’m getting suspicious, little witch. What game do you play?” Edon extended his hand, intently watching her unwind the wet bandage.

“I am not playing a game. I am trying to answer your questions,” Tala explained as she unrolled the cloth. She flipped it out in a long arc, then took it to the nearest oak and hung it over a low limb.

Edon flexed his fingers and looked into the palm of his hand. He grew very still and silent, until Tala sat down beside him. “Damn you, you’ve done it again,” he exclaimed.

“What have I done?” Tala said calmly.

“Look at my hand,” Edon commanded.

Tala did not need to look. “I gave you a cup of water from the Leam. The burn on your hand has healed.”

Edon exposed his hand again. It was damp. There was a healed pink scar where that morning there had been angry, painful blisters.

“The bruises on your chest are also gone, because the waters of the Leam heal, Edon. They always have and always will. It is not my power. Not my spell casting. I’m only the water bearer, naught else,” Tala said solemnly. “What are you doing?” she added, when, without a word, he got to his feet and reached down for her arm, pulling her up.

“Be quiet,” Edon growled. When she resisted his tight hold on her upper arm, he picked her up and tossed her across his shoulder. The excesses of yesterday had left a score of passion marks on her body. Her short dress put a bruise on her thigh at his eye level. Edon strode to the stream he’d watched her get the water from and followed it up a small rise to a barrier of rocks, where a stream collected into the pool where she had gotten the water.

“What is it you intend to do, Edon?” Tala demanded.

“Conduct a test of my own device, lady.” Without giving her a chance to say another word he tossed her into the pool.

Tala sank like a stone, then came up sputtering, her hair and her crown of flowers streaming in her eyes. “You miserable Viking!” She smote the water in front of her, splashing a silvery arc onto his chest, soaking his jerkin. “I ought to turn you into a frog!”

“Do it.” Edon laughed as he tugged the wet garment over his head. “Do it quick, before I take off my boots.”

“Don’t you dare climb in here! This is my pool and I don’t share it with any man!” Tala turned away, paddling to the wall opposite him. No mortar held the stones together. Moss grew thick in and around the cracks. “And
you will not desecrate my pool doing what you’re thinking of doing, Edon Warwick!”

It took too much time to unwind crossgarters and remove boots. Edon was only reaching for the ties of his breeks when she climbed out of the water on the other side of the pool. Her short gown clung to her body. Her skin was as smooth and unblemished as it had been the first time he’d seen her naked. She stood on the flat rocks shaking an angry fist.

“Oh! You make me so mad I could spit!” Then she did just that and then ran away.

Edon froze and waited for the hammer to fall. He was absolutely certain he was going to turn into a huge, fat bullfrog. A frog that would be swamped by the crumpled collapse of his breeks around his ears as he shrank to a frog’s size and had to hop away.

When nothing of that sort happened, Edon blushed over his giving in to such superstitious thoughts. Then he threw back his head and laughed at his own gullibility.

K
ing Alfred climbed onto the horse a foot soldier held for him, very pleased at the outcome of the hunt. He had personally taken place in a footrace to bring a wild boar to ground. The pursuit had exhilarated him, and as he looked back at the many bearers shouldering the spoils of the hunt, he was satisfied.

There would be a great feast on Lammas at Warwick. That the whole shire, Vikings and pagans alike, had converted was certainly an event well worth celebrating.

The jarl’s best man, Rig of Sunderland, spurred his mount to come to Alfred’s side. “Are you ready to ride back to the fortress, Lord King?” Rig asked.

“Aye.” Alfred grinned, looking younger than his thirty-two hard-lived years. “We’ve done well, Rig. Lord Edon will be surprised by the bounty on his board on the morrow.”

“There are plentiful beasts in Arden Wood,” Rig commented. “I just wish it would rain. The horses will grow lean without oats.”

Suddenly Alfred raised his hand in a signal for silence. Rig cocked his head and listened. They were not far from Fosse Way. Sometimes outlaws that lived in the woods attacked unwary travelers. Both he and the king spurred
their horses and galloped toward the road. The king’s guard followed at their heels.

They burst out of the forest at the clearing where King Offa’s oak sheltered a goodly portion of Fosse Way. A dazed Viking stood under the oak, howling like a madman.

“What is the trouble here, man?” King Alfred shouted. The bawling man held two horses by their reins and rubbed his big head with the palm of his left hand.

“Oh, that is Eric the Tongueless, Your Majesty,” Rig said as he drew up beside the king and dismounted. “He cannot talk and his wits are addled. An ax cleaved his head years ago. Be calm, Eric.”

Eric started when he saw the mighty Rig standing before him. He put up his hand in a gesture of submission, then bawled like an overgrown baby.

“Eric!” Rig grasped his shoulder and shook it. “Be a man! Why do you weep? What happened?”

Eric made frantic gestures with his hands, pointing to Embla’s fine horse and empty saddle, then he made violent motions of fighting and pointed to the woods.

“What do you make of it, Rig?” the king asked, concerned for the witless man.

“It would appear that he and his mistress, Embla Silver Throat, were attacked. Is that right, Eric?”

Eric nodded emphatically and ran his fingers over his shoulders and arms, then pointed to a Celtic symbol scratched into the trunk of the old tree.

Rig patiently watched the mute man’s hand motions. Some of it made sense, but most didn’t. “Were you at-tacked by painted warriors?”

At that Eric ran to the tree and slapped his hand on the hex sign.

“Ah, Celts.” Rig completed the word picture that Eric’s frantic gestures seemed to indicate. “I think I know what he’s going on about. There are some old Celt warriors. I’ve seen one or two. They never cut their hair, but wear
it in great long plaits hanging down their back, hence Eric’s pointing to his back. They are also painted, Lord King—tattooed from head to toe. with the animals that Eric’s gestures are trying to explain. The gist of his story is that they have taken Embla Silver Throat.”

Alfred wanted to say “good riddance” but that was not a Christian thing to do so he said nothing. Rig urged Eric the Tongueless onto a mount and they brought the man back to Warwick with them. Eric immediately went to Embla’s longhouse, drew his sword and sat before her door, wailing and moaning, apparently grief stricken by his loss.

“What should we do about this, Rig?” King Alfred asked.

“I can send men to search the woods, but you know as well as I that we will find very little. It is too easy to get lost in Arden Wood. I’d best talk to Edon. Embla is his niece by marriage.”

“I think we should send for my ward, Venn ap Griffin. He was to spend the day with Nels, studying catechism. If he has painted warriors on the loose in the forest, I want to know about them,” said the king resolutely.

Rig sent for the bishop and the atheling. The boy, the bishop assured them, had spent the whole day indoors with him, diligently applying himself to the study of the Bible.

Venn insisted he knew nothing about any outlaws.

Further interrogation was forestalled by the arrival of King Guthrum, a day sooner than anticipated. Venn was glad to see the Viking king arrive. Lessons in catechism ended for him when Bishop Nels went straight out to greet to the king of the Danelaw, welcoming him with open arms.

All Venn had to do now was wait for Edon. The boy kept a close watch, waiting for the right moment to make his move and parley with a king.

Tala and Edon had no sooner returned to the fortress at sundown than they were told Embla Silver Throat was
missing and King Guthrum was not a happy visitor. Tala found that last an understatement. The king was livid. He lashed out at Edon the moment they stepped into Edon’s hall.

“Do you know what this whelp has done?” Guthrum shouted at the top of his voice. “Oh, to think that such a viper lives under my own protection. Explain yourself, Edon, lest I have your head torn off your shoulders and posted on a stake outside the walls of this cursed keep.”

“What on earth are you shouting about, brother? And yes, I am just as happy to see you!” Edon dropped his hand from Tala’s waist and strode across the hall to confront his older brother. In a rage, Guthrum was terrifying and hard to placate.

Guthrum had the atheling by the cloth at his neck and shook him viciously. “This miscreant—who took the vows of Christianity only yesterday at my sponsor’s behest—has just whispered in my ear that he wants to make a devil’s pact with me!”

Edon gave a quick look at Venn ap Griffin’s ruddy face. Guthrum was nigh onto choking the twelve-year-old to death. “And what sort of bargain has the boy offered you?”

“Harald Jorgensson in exchange for this atheling’s three virgin sisters!” Guthrum thundered.

“What?” King Alfred jumped to his feet, incensed. He hadn’t known what the boy had whispered to the other king just as Edon entered the hall.

“Harald Jorgensson!” Edon stiffened. He glared at Venn and cut a sharp look back at Tala, silently advising her to stay quiet. “What do you know about our nephew, boy?”

Venn grasped at his throat, where the Viking king’s fierce grip clamped the cloth of his jerkin like a vise.

“For heaven’s sake, Athelstan, let him go so he may
speak,” King Alfred demanded, calling Guthrum by his baptismal name.

Guthrum did not want to let the boy go. He wanted to choke the life out of him. He shook him harder to make his point clear, then released his hold. Venn nearly collapsed on the trestle table, coughing and choking. He rubbed his hand across his windpipe.

“Speak up!” thundered both kings.

“Nay,” Venn croaked. “Not before you both give your word that you will return my sisters.”

“And why should I do that?” Alfred yelled furiously. Now he was as angry as Guthrum, and rightly so. No boy was going to coerce him into doing what was irresponsible.

“Because if you do not…I will not show King Guthrum where his nephew has been kept low these many months.” Venn played his trump smugly, certain both kings would have to yield in order to gain the knowledge Venn had so carefully collected. They both wanted the missing Viking jarl, and only Venn ap Griffin knew where the man was.

“Boy, do you threaten me?” Guthrum cuffed Venn so hard he knocked the prince off his feet.

“Hold! My lords! Killing the boy does not get information from him.” Edon stepped into the fray, to intervene as best he could. He put himself between Guthrum and the belligerent youth.

“I’ll do more than box his ears, by God,” Guthrum insisted, drawing back his meaty fist again.

“Brother, please!” Edon held up a calming hand, begging for peace. “Let me reason with him. The two of you roaring like bears only makes him more unwilling to cooperate. Please, go down to the lower hall and compose yourselves. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Both kings were so angry that they stalked downstairs, vowing not to be swayed no matter what Edon wormed out of the degenerate boy.

“You ask him what he’s done with Embla Silver
Throat!” King Alfred called out as he urged King Guthrum down the steps. “He put his warriors on her trail this afternoon and kidnapped her. I’ll stake my crown on that, I will.”

Edon pulled up a stool and set Venn on it. He waited until the hall cleared before he sat down beside the atheling, poured a goblet of mead and handed the drink to Venn to soothe his abused throat. The boy looked scared, as well he should. But like his sister, he had a backbone made of tempered steel.

Ap Griffins, Edon was coming to realize, had never learned the fine art of compromise or retreat. That might explain why they were a family of royal orphans.

The boy thirstily drank all of the mead, so Edon poured him a second cup. While Venn drank that, Edon folded his arms across his chest and waited. Venn set the drained goblet on the trestle. His fingers trembled. Wary eyes darted up to Edon’s.

“Now, suppose you tell me just what’s going on, Venn ap Griffin,” Edon suggested in a calm, rational voice.

Venn flashed a look at his sister, who hovered nearby, then turned to Edon. “I found the jarl last night.”

“Where is he?”

“Where everyone knows he would be. In Embla Silver Throat’s oubliette.”

Edon took a deep breath. “There is no such place.”

“Oh, aye, there is, and I know the way to it.” Venn stiffened, recovering his purpose. “He is not dead, Edon Halfdansson, not yet.”

“Then I suggest that you show me where this oubliette is, for I take it from your tone that it is only a matter of time before Jarl Harald
will
be dead. I would not speak on your behalf if my nephew dies.”

There was steel in the jarl’s voice. Venn blinked impassively at him, undaunted. “There are my sisters…” he
said, proving that age was not a factor in having a single-minded sense of purpose.

“What is it you want for your sisters?”

“I want them returned to Learn,” Venn said resolutely. “Or to Warwick, as you would call it. That will suit me. If they are to be converted as I have been, then command your kings to send tutors here. I want them with Tala.”

Edon cast a glance at Tala and saw that she listened attentively to her brother’s efforts at striking a bargain. But she was clearly very puzzled by his words and did not know what had prompted the boy’s actions this day. “Very well,” Edon said summarily. “I will put your petition to the kings. More than that I cannot do. Lead me to this oubliette?”

“Not yet.” Venn shook his head. “You must promise me that you will see my sisters grown, and that if and when they are married to men of their station, that they are not abused or mistreated. Promise me that.”

“Why should I promise that when they have a brother who will see to such needs more carefully than I?”

“Because I may not be here to see to it,” Venn said simply. He lifted his shoulders, adding, “Who knows what the morrow brings? I will be content if you give me your word to do what I ask.”

There was something very disturbing about the boy’s fatalism, but that wasn’t the issue Edon needed to address at this moment.

“Very well, you have my word, Venn ap Griffin.” Edon gave the assurance Venn wanted. “I will do everything in my power to see to it that your sisters are well taken care of, all of their days, in so far as I may be alive to do so. As you say, who knows what the morrow may bring.”

Tala watched the two of them shake hands, sealing the bond between them. She knew better than to interfere. Venn was on his own in this regard, and she knew why. His time was limited. If the eclipse of the moon happened
on Lughnasa, as Tegwin predicted, Venn would consent to becoming the final sacrifice. She realized that he was determined to settle his affairs, to be prepared.

Saddened by what she could not stop, Tala retreated to the company of the women and waited. They were all subdued, quiet. Rebecca remained seated nearest the window, where she could see out into the ward and give back reports.

Time seemed to have come to a standstill. Outside, the full moon appeared in the night sky. It lay on the horizon, a heavy orb the color of blood, orange and red.

“What do you suppose it means?” Rebecca asked of her husband, the blind oracle.

“I think we worry overmuch on the colors of the moon.” Theo touched his son’s cradle, setting it gently back into motion to keep the sleeping infant at peace. If prescience gave him any inkling of the events to unfold, he kept his thoughts to himself.

Distracted by what she saw outside, Rebecca called over her shoulder, “They are coming out of Embla Silver Throat’s byre. Edon and Rig carry a litter between them. Rashid, I think you will be needed very soon.”

The badly battered and abused jarl was taken first to the bathhouse, where he was washed and covered with clean linens, before he was brought upstairs into the keep. King Guthrum wept over him, clearly moved by the emaciated and starved body of his nephew and the unnecessary suffering he had gone through.

Rashid attended the jarl, doing what he could for the festering sores that scored the Viking’s body, applying liniments and poultices where they would do the most good. Lady Eloya prepared him a nourishing soup and sat beside the withered man, carefully tipping a small cup of the strengthening broth to his lips, aiding him in drinking it.

Harald was so weakened and frail that it was feared, as Venn had implied, that he would not live through the night.
King Guthrum summoned Bishop Nels to him, commanding that his sister’s only son be shriven, forgiven of his sins, so that he could obtain a just reward in heaven.

Edon and King Alfred had remained downstairs, deep in a private discussion. Venn joined his sister near the window of the hall and the two of them sat watching the moon rise high into the sky. Venn took hold of Tala’s hand.

“I must go, Tala,” he said quietly, calm and convinced of his purpose. “Lughnasa’s full moon is upon us.”

Tala did not look at her brother immediately. Instead she held his warm, young hand very tightly, feeling his pulse beating under her fingertips. “Stay,” she whispered. “Let this moon pass and remain with me.”