Lady of the Lake (23 page)

Stafford’s white brow lowered in concern. This ritual wasn’t going the way it should. The whole sequence was out of order. Stafford had learned it as a boy not much older than Venn. There was no oak cake and no mistletoe. Tegwin hadn’t recited a single prayer correctly in its entirety. Stafford was old, older than any man in the glen, but his memory was clear and sharp.

“Kill the Viking!” Tegwin screamed. He jerked Venn’s gold torque out of a pocket of his robe, holding it aloft. “This gold torque to the man who kills the Viking!”

“I’d like to see one of you old men try.” Edon cut his sword through the air, making it whistle and the stag men fall back. He jerked Venn behind him and made a threatening motion at Tegwin with his sword.

“I know you, you old faker,” Edon continued. “You’re no more a real druid than I am. You’ve been in league with Embla Silver Throat right from the start. She paid you to kill this boy. And you come to this grove tonight performing this blasphemy!”

“Kill him!” Tegwin screeched. “Damn him to the other world! Don’t listen to him! He lies!”

When none of the old soldiers moved to take on Edon, desperation drove Tegwin to seek divine aid. “O Esus! Shake the earth where this unbeliever stands. Smote him, oh great and mighty Taranis, god of thunder and light! I call on you, Teutates, return to your people. Give us back our lands this Viking invader has stolen! Restore the waters to Learn!”

“What jibberish!” Edon snarled in disgust. He caught hold of Venn’s arm and shook him. “Can’t you see that he’s naught but a mad old man? Has he offered your torque to the god of the water? No, he hid it inside his cloak so he could sell it tomorrow! Then he offers it to these old men so they’d get up the nerve to take me on. The damned old fool was down at the river yesterday, being baptized like everyone else. He doesn’t believe any of it, Venn. He’s just hedging his bets and working one side against the other. Don’t be a fool twice, boy.”

“My lord.” Venn’s eyes were not on Tegwin or Edon. They were on the terrible sky that was becoming more violent and frightening by the moment.

Edon shook him again. “Listen to me, boy—this old fool is trying to kill you. For what? So that ten old men can dance around all night in deer heads, wagging their antlers and getting drunk?”

Edon reached over and grabbed the nearest stag man, jerking his costume off his head. Under the brown robes was a bald, fat man. “Who is this? Lucius the baker? What power does he have?”

Edon gave the old man a boot in the seat of his breeks, sending him tumbling to the ground.

“My lord,” Venn cried out, pointing at the sky behind Tegwin.

The old druid had climbed onto the sacrifice stone and stood like Moses on Mount Sinai with his arms upraised,
his garments blowing in the wind that whipped viciously through the trees.

“Come, Taranis, show your wrath! Kill the Viking!” Tegwin shook his staff at the tumultuous, lowering storm. A huge black cloud melded the storm to the lake—forging both into one great elemental force, like the gruesome bogan of their collective nightmares. “I command you—”

Lightning struck the staff in Tegwin’s upraised hand. The old man flew out of his sandals, suspended for an electrifying moment. Then he crashed to the ground, his clothing and hair on fire. His death scream rent the air.

The stag men tumbled backward, knocked off their feet by the concussion of the lightning. Their fiery brands fell to the earth, landing on the dry layers of exposed peat, bursting into flames. In a heartbeat each mummer was screaming and rolling as their robes and crackling stag heads caught flame.

The wild wind spread the fire like quicksilver across the parched bracken. Every dry, brittle oak circling the grove burst into flame.

The grisly, gruesome nightmare grew more macabre as flames spread outward, leaping from tree to tree. The burning stag men panicked and ran, howling, trying to shed deer-head masks and long robes.

Dragging Venn toward his sister, Edon shouted, “The Almighty God has spoken, boy. He’s saying get out of here, now!”

I
f it hadn’t been for the fire erupting all around them, Edon would most definitely have taken the time at Black Lake to bang Tala’s and her little brother’s heads together. Maybe that would have put some sense into each of them.

As it was, Rig, Tala, Venn and Edon had all they could handle to escape the rising wall of flames the wind drove at them. The fire swept across the fields of exposed peat, cutting off all retreat back to the causeway. Their only escape was west through the woods. Even so, the raging forest fire jumped ahead of their retreat more than once.

In desperation, they fled to the shallow river Avon, dismounting and leading their horses into the center of current, taking its winding course to Warwick.

By the time they reached the fortress, the total eclipse of the moon had passed. The fire in Arden Wood cast an eerie glow over the whole valley as they climbed the high hill at Warwick. The storm clouds thickened. Ash, cinders and acrid smoke filled the air. A dozen great fires burned in the forest.

Thunder rolled and lightning smote the valley. Terrible clouds filled the entire sky, yet the rain held back. What signal nature waited for, Edon didn’t know. He was just thankful they made it back to the fortress.

It took six stout Vikings on each of the heavy gates to close them against the driving wind. Dirt from the arid fields swept up in the wind, stinging eyes and searing skin.

As he dismounted and surrendered his horse to a stable boy, Edon cast a worried look toward his menagerie’s byre. The nearest fire was leagues to the west. The wind howled. God alone knew what damage was coming.

Edon told the men on guard to keep a sharp watch and to let him know if the wind changed direction. Rig caught the skins of healing water from their saddles and slung them over his shoulders, following Edon, Tala and Venn.

Venn didn’t waste his energy trying to speak against the raging wind as Edon manhandled him into the keep. Inside it was another matter. There the howling wind was stopped by the thick stone walls.

The atheling yanked his arm free of Edon’s fierce grip and snarled, “Now we’re doomed, Viking.”

“Are we?” Edon snapped. “And how is that?” He relaxed now that the keep’s doors behind them were shut and barred. “And how is that?”

“It will never rain,” the boy said purposefully.

“Never?” Edon cocked a skeptical brow at that dire prediction. Apparently the boy was stupid as well as stubborn.

“Never!”
Venn said in disgust. “Tala, you explain it to him!”

Edon relieved Rig of the water-filled goatskins. “Explanations can wait. Rig, put two of my best guards on this boy with the orders not to allow him out of their sight for any reason. Let’s get this water upstairs.”

The two kings and the bishop knelt beside the bed where Jarl Harald lay. The Viking’s once-handsome face was at peace, no longer twisted in agony or pain. The kings were united in prayer for his soul. A dozen candles flickered in the chamber, filling it with the scent of beeswax, sweet and potent and sacred.

Another deafening clap of thunder rumbled over the top of the fortress, and the most splendid thing happened. The rains let loose. Huge drops struck the slate tiles on the roof, wet the keep’s outer walls and splashed on the windowsill. The next gust of wind brought the scent of a blessing— dry earth turning wet.

Certain that he’d come too late, Edon slipped across the room and took hold of the shutters to close them as quietly as he could. He paused to look out the window at the parched valley. Off in the distance the fire raged in the heart of Arden Wood, a great conflagration. The onslaught of rain did nothing to stop it.

“Uncle…Edon?” A voice spoke from behind his back. “Don’t close the shutters. I have been too long in the land of the dead. Let me see the sky.”

Edon spun around, shocked to hear Harald speak in so strong and clear a voice. “Harald! Was that you?”

The sick man lifted his pale hand from the blankets at his side. “Aye, it is I. Come, let me touch you and see you in the candles. Guthrum tells me you have come to the Lord.”

Edon dropped to one knee beside the bed and took Harald’s pale hand in his own. His best and dearest friend from childhood was no more than skin and bones. But the eyes inside Harald’s shrunken sockets were intelligent and bright. His spirit shone out from inside him.

“Where is Embla?”

“She is trapped in Arden Wood. There is a fire there. I could do nothing to save her.” Edon shook his head, not willing to tell Harald more than that.

Harald sighed and closed his eyes. He lifted his fingers toward Guthrum, motioning to him. “Tell him, please.”

Guthrum cleared his throat, his face grave and concerned. “Harald accompanied me to Wedmore as my heir. It was there, under the tutelage of Bishop Nels, that we both came to acknowledge our faith and were baptized.
Embla was against it. Harald thought in time she would give up her pagan ways.” Guthrum held open his hands. “I suspected her from the first…but without proof I could not act.”

“You must forgive her,” Harald said firmly. “She thought me weak for my faith, for forgiving her every injury she did against me. She tried to raise demons in me, but she failed. I am alive because I never lost my faith that God would save me.”

Edon looked at Rig and motioned to Tala to come forward. He put a goatskin of healing water in her hands. Tala held it a moment, hesitating, unsure of what she should do. Then she turned to Bishop Nels and gave him the skin, asking him to bless the water.

She wanted to kiss Edon, cover him with kisses of thanks. He’d saved her brother. It didn’t bother her if Venn sulked about being cheated of his fate. He was so young and had so much to learn. So did she. Now, thanks to a Viking, she had the chance to start anew, to bring her family together again. To heal her land and her people.

All three sacks of water were blessed and then Harald’s bandages were removed so that the sores from his chains could be washed and cleansed in the water of the Leam. He asked for cup after cup of the sweet, pure water to drink. Tala and Edon watched as Rashid tended the jarl’s wounds.

“You will be up and on your feet in no time,” Rashid assured Harald. “Once we’ve put some meat back on your bones.”

“I will hold you to that, for I expect Brother Bedwin at Evesham will have much work for me to do. I’m going back there, Guthrum. It is the only place on this Earth that I have ever felt completely at peace. Now that Edon is home, you must make him see that Warwick prospers. I am going to devote the rest of my life to God.”

“Evesham Abbey has prospered quite well,” King Alfred
interjected. “Did you know, Guthrum, that they will bring in a mighty crop of grapes this year on account of the unseasonably hot weather? Just listen to that rain, my friends, and give thanks!”

Later, after the occupants of the crowded keep quieted for the night, Tala stood at Edon’s windows watching rain pour from the sky. Deep glistening puddles made little lakes in the fenced ward. At the base of Warwick Hill the river rose in its banks, filling as each beck and stream that fed into it gushed with life again.

“I want to go play in the rain like a child.” Tala leaned out the window to touch the rainwater that cascaded off the roof. “I never thought to see anything so wonderful again in my lifetime.”

Edon frowned as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back. “You’re a foolish woman, lady, to even suggest going out and playing in this torrent. Once struck by lightning, I won’t risk it twice.”

Tala wrapped her wet hands over his dry ones and squeezed. “You risked it all this night, Wolf of Warwick, defying the old gods.”

“I won’t make light of your beliefs, Tala. I am just thankful that I was there and could stop a travesty from happening. Your brother was duped. Tegwin had other reasons to kill him. Embla bribed him. She knew of Venn’s rightful claim to Leam and wanted him out of the way, just as she wanted Harald out of her way. Thorulf searched her byre and longhouse. She was stealing from the shire, hoarding gold and silver.”

“I don’t understand why she turned against her own husband. Jarl Harald was a handsome, virile man.”

“Yes.” Edon nodded. “But when he began to pay a regular tithe to the church, Embla saw that as taking money from her coffers. As my managers of Warwick they were
entitled to one-twentieth of the profits of this shire. She wanted it all.”

“It was greed that made her do the horrible things she did?” Tala asked.

“Aye.” Edon rubbed his chin over the top of her head. She felt so right in his arms. So perfect. “In truth, I believe she intended to kill me as well. Thorulf’s search of her longhouse found a second satchel of nightshade and bloodroot—an identical pack to the one she accused Venn of bringing into Warwick.”

“Lord, she could have poisoned us all!” Tala whispered.

“Had your brother not accidentally bumped into her when she was trying to sneak back into the fortress unnoticed from collecting the roots, she might well have done just that. But once the roots were discovered there were too many witnesses for her to risk trying to poison our food or drink. We were very lucky that night.”

“Some would say you have been blessed with much good fortune,” Tala said. She looked up at his solemn face. “It is only a miracle you and Venn were not killed by lightning in the grove this night. You were not all that far from the spot where Tegwin stood.”

“Ah, but that’s where I know better, love. I made doubly certain that I did not raise my hand or my sword to attract the lightning, as he did. I learned my lesson the first time. I dare say your druid has gotten his just reward. Tala, he was going to murder your brother. Don’t you feel angry about that?”

Tala sighed deeply. “Aye, I have always been against such dreadful sacrifice from the first I heard of it. But when the old legends are recited and a young boy is convinced that such a sacrifice is his heroic destiny…well, my thoughts on the matter don’t carry much weight. Venn knew he could never become a king like our ancestors were, but as a sacrificial victim, he would be revered for
ever as a great and noble boy-king. I did everything I could to sway him from believing Tegwin. Only each day that the drought continued, Venn began to think that to bring the rain was a wonderful thing.”

“Tegwin played on Venn’s fears.” Edon sighed. “I don’t relish returning to the lake on the morrow to collect Embla’s body. But she must have a proper burial. As caught up as he is in forgiving all harm done him, Harald will likely have it no other way.”

“You don’t have to go yourself, do you?” Tala asked him, concerned.

“We’ll see. Perhaps Rig can manage it.”

Edon turned her around in his arms and kissed her mouth. She was willing and pliable. Though he wanted to press her into yielding to him, Edon settled for placing a soft and tender kiss on each of her temples and letting her retire to bed. He had much to get ready for the morrow, and it was important that they keep a good watch on the rising river and the fire in the forest.

Walking the perimeter of the fortress wouldn’t satisfy Edon that all was well in Warwick this wild night. He and Rig road out again, traveling up Fosse Way as far as Watling Street and returning via the trail beside the river.

It rained the whole time they were out, hard and steady rain. The Avon was rising, but not dangerously so. From his final survey of the valley from the top of his hill, he saw that the fire in the forest was finally out.

First thing in the morning, Rig promised to take a patrol into the woods and search the temple for Embla Silver Throat. Both Edon and Rig privately hoped that the patrol would return bringing the bitter woman’s remains for burial. But they both were guarded in their thoughts, wanting to see her body before they accepted her death as a fact. In that pit, she could have survived the fire.

It was very late when Edon crawled into bed beside Tala and gathered her close in his arms. It was still raining, a
steady, nourishing rain that quenched the earth’s deep thirst.

Edon closed his eyes and listened to the rain. In just a few days, his Warwick would be green again, the way it should be. He went to sleep contented, certain that all things were as they should be in the heavens and on earth.

He woke to empty arms and an empty bed.

Instantly, Edon remembered two things that he’d tried to remember before and couldn’t. The first was Tala’s prediction of what would happen to Leam if any man should lay hands on the atheling of Learn—that the land would be smote from end to end, laid desolate and ruined by the wrath of Leam’s ancient gods. The second was Theo’s prediction that the princess of Leam had made plans to flee to the abbess at Loytcoyt.

Groaning with regret, Edon jumped out of bed and threw open the shutters to look over Warwick. One glance at the world outside his windows told him both predictions had come true. The proof was as evident as the collapse of Embla’s flimsy palisade wall.

The stockade had fallen victim to the winds and drenching rain. The forest fire had been extinguished by the rain, but not before the flames had consumed nearly all of Arden Wood. The forest Edon saw from his window was a charred ruin.

The peaceful river that meandered through the valley had become a flood by daylight. Cursing his foul luck, Edon shouted for Eli as he snatched up his breeks and began to dress.

Eli, who slept on the sill of the jarl’s door every night, opened the door, ready to be of service to Edon. “Lord?”

“Fetch Maynard to me at once!” Edon growled. The servant whipped about, scuttling out as Edon sat and began lacing the garters on his boots. With the deluge of rain still falling from the heavily laden skies, Edon knew to dress
for the elements. His feet wouldn’t be dry again until he collapsed in bed that night. He had every intention of entering that bed a newly wedded husband, exercising his marital rights.

Maynard arrived as Edon stood fastening his belt and scabbard at his hips. He wasn’t encumbering himself with his long sword today. If it came to fighting, it would have to be done at close range.