Naked (20 page)

Aine came in carrying a pile of firewood. “The hour is late. You’ll strain yourself, my lady. You should go to your bed. Rest.”

“What’s the point, Aine?” Rolling it up, I thrust my embroidery into its basket. “I don’t sleep well anymore.” Each night I stared at the stars painted on the ceiling. I had counted them all many times over.

“You’re indoors too much of late.” Aine glanced at the
briw
of mint and carrot cooling in its wooden bowl. I hadn’t been able to face the broth that was usually my favorite, or the grain bread and fresh butter on the slab beside it. My
oxymel
health cup, made of honey and vinegar syrup, stood untouched. “You don’t eat, you don’t sleep. When was the last time you went out riding?”

“I don’t care to ride.” Still, I felt a pang. I had been neglecting Ebur.

“You haven’t ridden abroad in the Middle Lands for weeks now, and you know it was your parents’ practice to do so. It’s your duty.”

We charge the care of Coventry to you, while we are gone.

For their honor. For the good of our lands.

Be brave. Move on.

“I’ll go tomorrow.”

*   *   *

My spirits lifted as I rode out of Coventry and into the rolling green farmlands beyond the town, with Acwell riding behind. As I’d anticipated, he never seemed to let me out of his sight. It made me miss the ease of Edmund’s company as my bodyguard all the more.

The summer air was warm against my face, the sun dazzling the ripening
korn
fields. The roadsides bursting with
hagathorn
, wild garlic, and primroses, the shady oak and hazel copses were cool and inviting. Aine had been right, as usual. I felt better as soon as I was out of doors.

Determinedly, I tried to avoid thinking about Leofric as I rode. But I hadn’t taken this path since we had ridden it together on our way to the Forest of Arden.

Arden.
The hours we had spent there were imprinted on my mind, my soul, my body. We had become as close as a man and woman could be that day, or so I’d believed. There’d been a powerful holiness when we made love in that sacred grove. The crackling of the leaves as he—

I wouldn’t ride to Arden.

Leaning down I urged Ebur on, outriding my thoughts. At the farm where I’d stopped with Leofric I sought out the farmwife. She was standing near the barn.

Ebur snorted as I came to a halt. I smiled. “How goes it with you?”

“We’re pleased to see you, my lady.” She appeared more tired than she had in the spring, her face thin, almost gaunt. “But all is not well here.”

“What’s happened?” Swiftly I reached for my sword. I’d begun to ride armed and armored since Thurkill’s abduction. Never again would I be caught without defense. “Not warriors from the east? Not Danes?”

Leofric had urged me to stay my guard. Suddenly, Acwell’s presence on his horse behind me became reassuring.

“No Danes. It’s the harvest. The crops last year were as poor as we have ever known.”

The harvest had been bad, I knew, but not to this extent. I frowned. “How much grain do you have left?”

“Not much, my lady. It’s nigh on June, and I’m worried we won’t have enough for June, let alone for July. Not for our cattle or for us.” She leaned forward. “We won’t last the hungry month.”

The hungry month.
That was the name July went by if the hay and grain ran out. Not just farmers were affected. When grain was scarce, the price of it went sky high and many in the town became unable to afford it. And I had sat in my bower, refusing my food!

Shame tensed my muscles. Ebur shifted beneath my seat. “Are there others who are in the same position?”

“There are farms that have less grain than we do. There’s a shortage throughout the Middle Lands.” The farmwife glanced over at her children playing with knuckle bones outside the barn door. She whispered. “I fear our children will starve.”

“No child will starve in the Middle Lands,” I replied fiercely.

Her apron twisted beneath her anxious fingers. “My husband worries night and day about the weather. He needs to get the grass cut and dried before the rain can spoil it, to feed the animals. There is not much hay remaining in the barn and the grain bin is almost empty. Soon we will have nothing to eat or to sell.” Her expression became imploring. “My lady. We won’t be able to pay our taxes.”

Reaching out I clasped her thin hand. “My father never took taxes from a starving man. Nor will I.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes. “We aren’t starving yet. But we might be if we must sell all our grain to pay our taxes.”

“Taxes. Do you think I seek your money at such a time? As you eke out your food it’s famine we must fight, together, just as we fought the Danes. We’ve beaten poor harvests before.”

“Oh my lady!” With her apron she wiped her cheek.

“The next
althing
is soon. Please come, and bring your husband, and tell others in these parts to come, too. I’ll listen to you all about the harvest, and about the taxes.”

“Oh thank you, my lady. We’ll come. Thank you!”

With a heavy heart I rode away. The Mercian bodyguard Acwell had been listening intently. He followed hard on Ebur’s hooves.

The Middle Lands were in need and I hadn’t known. How disappointed my parents would have been in me. I would waste no more time sitting in my bower hoping Leofric would return.

As Ebur galloped I sent a promise flying into the air. Famine would not beat my people. I could only hope my help would be in time.

*   *   *

I stood on the dais in the hall and raised my palm flat. The center fire was unlit, for the summer air was warm and no hide hung over the windows. But still the air felt stuffy.

Crowded in front of me were many anxious faces, both town and country folk, almost to the rear of the hall, threatening to spill out the doorway. The farmwife was at the front of the crowd, her weather-beaten husband beside her. Tomas the tanner sidling at the back as usual. His feaberry eyes darted too often toward me.

Acwell hovered near me, watchful.

“Welcome, good people of the Middle Lands. The
althing
for the shire of the Middle Lands has begun. Who will speak first today?”

“I’ll speak, my lady.” Wilbert pushed forward with a bow. “But I don’t speak only for myself. I speak for all the townsfolk, in the villages, and out on the farms. It’s the poor harvest, my lady. We all face famine.”

“We’ll go hungry!” Walburgha cried.

Noise and consternation broke out among the crowd.

“I won’t be running my water mill,” said the miller, “if there’s no grain to be ground into flour. Then how will I feed my family?”

“It isn’t just that we’re short of grain this year.” The farmwife appeared even thinner than days before when I had seen her at the farm. “We’ve had a few bad years in a row.”

“Probably going to have a few more, too, if I read the land right,” added her husband.

“Goes in sevens, doesn’t it?” Walburgha put in. “Seven years of bad crops, there usually is, and we’ve a few more to go if the saying be right.”

“We’ll starve!” Someone called again from the rear of the hall.

“Have you ever gone hungry in Coventry?” I asked.

Mutters of no were heard, though many didn’t sound convinced.

“Not in Coventry, never!” said Wilbert stoutly.

“Then you must have faith in me!” I cried. “Have we not already defeated Thurkill the Tall, a fearsome foe?”

“It’s true. We have!” called the miller.

Tomas the tanner moved to the front. “Yes, we defeated the Danes.”

Wilbert snorted with disgust. “I didn’t see you fighting.”

“I had the toothache,” Tomas said indignantly.

“The toothache!” Walburgha shook her fist at him. “I’ll give you the toothache.”

“Pray, don’t argue between yourselves. If everyone in Coventry is to survive the hungry month, and beyond, we must stand together.”

Walburgha gave one last shake before attending to me.

“The famine that we face is severe,” I said. “Last year’s crops were bad, and for a few years now we have struggled. We have also had to use our resources to fight Thurkill the Tall and the Danes. I know times are difficult for you all, especially families who lost men in battle.”

Compassion softened Walburgha’s expression. She had a stout heart. “There are quite a few families in need.”

“On the farm next to ours, the children are doing the farmwork for their mother, who is expecting another baby. Her husband died in the battle against Thurkill, God rest his soul.” The farmwife crossed herself.

There were certain to be many more stories such as these. “How many will not have enough food for the hungry month?”

Almost three-quarters of the group raised their hands.

Many more than I had suspected. I bit my lip. Stepping away from the crowd, I reached over to the table and took from it a good Saxon loaf, round and flat, made from coarse flour ground at our own mill.

Holding it in my two hands, I raised it high. My ruby ring glinted.

“Here is the loaf! Here is good bread: grown, milled, and made in the Middle Lands. In our Saxon way your lord is your loaf giver. I am your lady just as my father was lord. My father was your loaf giver and so shall I be.”

As red as blood my ring flashed as I tore the loaf in two.

Silent now, the crowd waited. I heaved a breath.

Lowering the pieces of bread, I met as many frightened expressions as I could. Resolute. Only Tomas looked away.

“No one will starve in the hungry month. In Coventry, the loaf is shared, rich and poor alike. I will not collect the taxes until this year’s autumn harvest.”

Relieved babble broke out.

Claps and cheers.

“
Was Godiva hail
!”

“You’re a saint like your mother, Lady Godiva!” Walburgha dabbed her cheeks.

“And as wise as your father!” called Wilbert.

Carefully placing the bread on the table I noticed my tense fingers had made dents in the crust.

I addressed the crowd again.

“Please, I have more to say. I ask that if you have any stores you share them with others in need.”

Tomas gave a belligerent swagger.

“What, if we’ve been sensible enough to put stores away we have to share it with those who haven’t?”

“Who’d want your stores, Tomas?” Walburgha cried.

“I guess we know who’s got something tucked away to keep for themselves!” The weather-beaten farmer at the front took a step toward Tomas. “And I guess we know where to find it, if we’re hungry!”

Tomas slunk away.

“It’s up to each person to share what they will.” I wasn’t surprised at Tomas’s selfishness. “But our way in the Middle Lands has always been to care for one another. I trust that will not change.”

The crowd muttered their approval.

Wilbert nodded. “That’s the way it should be.”

“Aye, that’s how it’s always been done in Coventry,” the miller agreed.

“We will face these times of hardship together,” I promised. “You’re not alone, good people. I am your lady, and I will never let anyone in my lands suffer. Coventry did not burn, and Coventry will not starve!”

“To Coventry!”

“Was Godiva hail!”
Wilbert shouted.

The folk cheered.

As the crowd gathered, loneliness unexpectedly consumed me. I clutched at the edge of the table, the weight of their faith in me heavy on my shoulders.

I longed for my parents.

I longed for Edmund.

For Leofric.

*   *   *

“My ring is missing!”

Aine paused in stoking the fire. “What’s missing, my lady?”

“My ring! The ruby ring Lord Leofric gave me!” I searched frantically around the bower. Cloak, tunics, shifts, shawls. Hurled out of the clothing chest.

“Where did you last see it?”

“I had it at the
althing
.”

“Perhaps it got caught in your cloak. It could be hanging by a thread.” Aine shook the mantle I’d been wearing.

On my hands and knees I sifted through the rushes on the floor.

“Stop it, my lady. Get up. Let me search for you.”

“No, Aine. I must find it. I must. The ring was loose. I didn’t take it to be mended in time. Oh, why didn’t I take it?”

She hauled me up. “I’ll have the servants search. Someone may have picked it up. They’ll guess it’s yours and they’ll return it.”

“I don’t believe I’ll see it again.”

“Of course you will. We’ll find it.”

“It’s a bad omen.”

Aine’s dark eyes were fixed on me, her expression inscrutable.

Slumping down by the fire, my fingers traced the empty place the ring had been. A white circle branded my skin.

“It’s gone forever.”

“My lady. You’re making too much of this. You’ll grow ill if you carry on so. You need to get away from Coventry for a while.”

“I can’t leave Coventry!”

“Your mother used to visit the monks at Evesham when she was troubled and needed help.”

Evesham monastery. There my parents often sought advice and aid for the poor.

“The monks may know ways to help, during the hungry month.” I sat up. “I could visit Beolinda on the way.” Her father had been a good friend to mine. He might have some useful advice, too.

“You need a change from these bower walls, my lady.”

And I needed the monks’ wisdom. Leofric was gone. I was alone. I had no one else to guide me. “We’ll go on the morrow.”

22

Not only we, that prate

Of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well,

And loathed to see them overtax’d …

—Tennyson (1842):
Godiva

Beolinda hurried out the door to where I stood, Ebur’s bridle in my hand. We’d been traveling for hours. Saddle-sore and weary, I was relieved to spy the thatched eaves of her family hall, set in a valley shaded with elm trees, now in full leaf. It was smaller than our hall in Coventry, with just a few houses and barns, but its aspect was particularly fine.

“Godiva! I wasn’t expecting you!”

A butterfly the color of black and flame darted around me as I laughed. “It’s my turn to give you a surprise, Beolinda. I hope you don’t mind putting us up for a night. I didn’t have time to send a message. We’re on our way to the monastery at Evesham.”