The Year 872

"WE have had naught but war with the Danes for six years, and for six years they have exacted huge sums of silver from us." 

The young man who recounted this was Ælfred, King of Wessex, come himself to stand as God-father at the naming-feast of my son. The King's light blue eyes flicked from face to face around the high table of Godwulf, Lord of Kilton. "Lindisse, Anglia, and Kent they now control. Egbert of Northumbria will not last long; his Kingdom too shall fall. Only Wessex and Mercia remain."

For the naming-feast the oaken board had been massed with all the early Spring bounty the burh of Kilton could provide, and our first cup had been precious wine from Frankland. We had feasted on crackling-skinned rock doves, bitterns, and grouse, and bowls of thick browis, steaming with leeks and turnips; and then taken bright ale with platters of dried apples and cherries stewed in tart ver-juice. All was of delicious savour, and as I was always hungry now that I was suckling Ceric, I ate my fill and more.

But jesting talk was over, and Ælfred had set down his golden cup and spoke so that all at the table might hear. Godwulf sat at the King's right side, and at the old lord's right, his eldest son, Godwin; and the faces of all others at that table were turned unto these three.

"Now, as of last Summer we have peace with them," Ælfred went on, "but a watchful, restless peace, for they only grow stronger as they raven off the richness of the kingdoms they have conquered."

Godwulf's pale eyes had never left Ælfred's face during this speech. Now the old man roused himself, stood up, and rasped his answer. "You are the bringer of our peace," he said, and gestured to the King's golden dragon banner, "a peace purchased not only with our silver, but bought dear by them at the points of our spears. Let them buy peace from Wessex at the price of their blood!"

A cry went up from the men at the table, and they hooted and stamped their feet in acclaim at Godwulf's words, so that all in the hall looked up at us.

"It will take both silver and spear-points, to drive the invader from our borders," said Ælfred. "If we are steadfast in our courage, and steadfast in our faith, God will not forsake us to the heathen horde."

"I am steadfast in my steel," echoed Godwulf, with his hand upon the hilt of his seax.

"And no man's steel I value more than yours," returned Ælfred with a grin, at which every thegn of Godwulf's cheered. The King looked over the hall at the faces turned towards his. "I thank God that I was entrusted to lead a people such as you." He took up his cup again. "Therefore I drink to you, that we might all be brothers in this great task before us."

It was easy to salute such a man, and to honour him as King. We lifted our cups in gladsome tribute, and I felt, sitting in that strong-hold filled with the finest thegns in the realm, that no harm could come to Wessex as long as Ælfred ruled.

I looked at Gyric at my side, and watched the tilt of his head as he listened to the talk of the table. He had not raised his voice during the meal to address his King; he no longer claimed the right now that he could not back up his words with deeds on the field of battle. Yet no one seeing the two young men together could be unmoved, or unaware, of the honour and love that Ælfred held in his eyes for his companion since boyhood. Gyric knew this as well, for Ælfred had showered an hundred kindnesses upon him since learning of his return alive to Kilton, and these kindnesses extended even to me, and now to our babe. But to Gyric no token of loving-kindness from his King and former battle-mate could dispel his gloom at being rendered unable to fight for Kilton, and for Wessex.

Towards the end of our meal the massive oak door at the end of the hall was pulled open by one of the thegns, and a slight figure, a boy or young man, began picking its way through the press of tables and benches. This visitor was alone, and wrapped in a plain dark blue cloak like unto those pilgrims wear. Tho' the hall was bustling, I watched him approach, thinking it might be a monk about to beg shelter. Modwynn, ever generous, saw him too, and by her attentive gaze made ready her welcome. Halfway through the hall the visitor paused and pushed back the hood which shrouded his face. To my surprise, it was no man at all, but a woman who smiled up at us. 

"Edgyth," said Modwynn, with real pleasure, and stood up to greet her other daughter in law.

Edgyth nodded her head and continued to the table, stopping at the very centre before Ælfred. "My lord," she began, and curtsied deeply, "forgive my disturbing your repast."

In answer Ælfred reached his hands across the narrow table and took both of Edgyth's in his own. "Edgyth," he said. "In faith, how good it is to see you again."

Now Gyric too had risen, and as he spoke her name extended his hand through the space to his brother's wife. She turned her eyes upon him, grey eyes beneath a pale brow, and her lips parted but she spoke no word. She let go the King's hands and took that which Gyric offered, and enfolding it touched it to her lips.

"Dear brother," she said. 

These two words and the tenderness with which she spoke them told me much.

She came around the end of the table, and Modwynn and Godwulf embraced her. Then she turned to her husband Godwin, who kissed her upon the brow. He spoke some word of welcome to her, what I could not hear, and gently pulled the cloak from her shoulders. Beneath she wore a grey wool gown of fine weaving but the simplest make. No thread-work embellished it, no jewel was pinned at throat or shoulder, nothing but a thin strand of amber beads about her neck lent any colour. Her hair was covered by her headwrap, and only a few light, ashy strands showned. Her lips were full but pale. Her whole expression was one of pleasant quietness. She was of middle height, no more; slight and straight. She was fully twenty-six, no longer very young, and tho' her face was unlined any beauty which it once held was faded away.

Having thought this thought, I kept looking on her, for tho' there was nothing in her face or form to lure the eye, once caught it found pleasure there. There was the simple grace with which she walked, which made her seem more akin to Modwynn than I thought woman ever could be. She had a lovely way of moving her hands, and their gentle gestures gave fullness to her soft words. She was ready and well spoken to all, greeting each at the table with some special remembrance or little jest.

Modwynn led her to where Gyric and I stood waiting. Her grey eyes turned to me, and took me in as fully as I did her. I was nearly a hand-span taller; my round breasts and hips now those of a suckling mother. My strong nose, chestnut-gold hair, and mossy-green eyes made my face as vivid as hers was pale. I wore one of my two finest gowns, sewn of yellow silk, for it was Easterweek, and the King with us. Circling my brow was the narrow fillet of gold which I wore every night at table in the hall. Around my waist was tied the sash upon which I had worked in linen thread two flying pheasants, bright with gay colour. Looped over this sash hung the ring of keys, given me by Modwynn, which opened many of the store-houses and treasure hoards of Kilton; the very keys which once Edgyth had worn.

Edgyth saw all this, and did so, I thought, without judging or gauging.

"What beauty you have!" were her first words to me, and the sudden sweetness of this declaration left me tongue-tied.

Modwynn laughed, and took my hand and pressed it into Edgyth's. "Yes, Ceridwen is beautiful, and better than beautiful, clever; and better than this, good."

Now I laughed too, for this fulsome praise stung my cheeks with warmth.

"Welcome," I told Edgyth, and regretted it at once, for who was I to welcome she who had lived at Kilton for six years back to her rightful home? But I went on, "I have wanted so long to know you," and this I tried to say with the truth I felt.

Edgyth took me into her arms and embraced me, and then turned to Gyric and pressed him to her breast. She kissed his cheek, and her eyes closed as her lips brushed the linen wrap he wore; save this there was no sign of grief.

"How glad Ceridwen will be for your company," he told her. "How glad we all will be."

But at this Edgyth lowered her eyes. Still holding onto Gyric's hand she told him, "I cannot stay. I am on my way to Glastunburh, and my men and I will leave again when our horses are rested."

A foundation of Benedictine nuns was at Glastunburh, this I knew. Modwynn's quick glance spoke her question to Edgyth, but Edgyth shook her head. "I think it best to spend some time there," she said deliberately. "To help me think," she finished.

Modwynn nodded her head. "We will speak of it later," she invited. "Now, come sit and eat."

Edgyth took her place, more than a year empty, next to Godwin at the table. For the first time I saw him share his plate with another, and watched them as they spoke together. I could not read Godwin's face; he treated her with courtesy, but I had seen him treat all women thus. Nor did Edgyth's calm visage betray any unease, or especial joy, at being once again back at Kilton's high table. I lifted my eyes and was caught in my staring by Godwulf. Godwin sat, as always, just next his father, and the old lord himself may have been watching Edgyth, for as his eyes met mine I thought he too wondered what would happen.

When the last dishes were set upon the table, I said to Gyric, "I think I will go back to the bower house. Ceric may be hungry now."

I rose and went to bid Good-night to Ælfred, Godwulf, and Modwynn. As I did so Edgyth stood and said to me, "And may I see the babe?"

"O, yes," I answered. "Please come." 

So Edgyth and I walked together to the end of the hall, and out through the smaller oaken door on the side that led to the pleasure garden. The noise of the hall fell away behind us, and the roaring of the waves upon the rocks below rose to fill our ears. "The sea," said Edgyth in a low tone. "How I have missed it."

Then we were before the round bower house, in which she and Godwin had lived, and which he had given up to his brother and me when we had arrived last Spring. Now it was our house, Gyric's and mine, even to the carved dragon bed within it, which Godwin had had made so many years before for his own new bride. I did not think Edgyth could look upon these things unmoved, and in fact, I watched her pause a moment as we stepped inside. I went from cresset to cresset, lighting more oil lamps that we might see. Edgyth moved to the cradle.

"Ah, a lovely child," she said, with true warmth. I lifted Ceric from the cradle, and Edgyth's hands rose in faint echo of my movement.

"Will you hold him?" I asked. She nodded wordlessly, and as she took him Ceric yawned, his tiny red mouth opening and shutting.

"He is not hungry after all," I laughed, as Ceric snuggled into Edgyth's arms. We sat down together at the table, and Ceric closed his eyes again.

"Do not let him get too heavy," I told her. "He grows so quickly. Put him down whenever you like."

"He is not heavy," she said softly, peering into the pink face.

I knew enough to be quiet. Some little time passed, and we, tho' nothing was said, grew closer in our knowing of the other by the silence.

At last she lay the babe down in the cradle. She stretched her now-empty hands upon the table, and looked over at me. "I have heard much of you," she said in her mild voice.

I was quiet, and she went on. "How blest Gyric is to have you."

"I am blest to have him," I returned.

She nodded. "That is as it should be; that you might both think so." She shifted in her chair, and the room fell quiet.

"You were very kind to Gyric in the hall," I offered.

She moved her hands in a little gesture of acceptance. "How could I not be? He is so dear to me. Gyric could always make me smile; he was always mirthful and teasing." 

I said that which would be hard for her to say. "He is greatly changed."

She searched my face. "Yes, greatly. Last year I left Kilton in mid-Winter, at Candlemas. I knew nothing of Gyric's capture. Then a rider came, sent by Godwin, to my parent's hall. He told us Gyric had returned, as from the dead. This message was also a Fare-well, for Godwin meant to ride after the Danes who had wounded Gyric." Her voice dropped to a hush. "I knew Godwin did not expect to survive the avenging."

The starkness of her words recalled those sorrowful days to me, but from Edgyth's vantage alone. "You feared Godwin would be lost to you."

Her hand moved slightly in assent. When she spoke it was in steadier voice. "But through the grace of God, it has all turned out well. Gyric lives, and Godwin lived to avenge him."

She went on, with something like a smile, "And you have taken your rightful place at Kilton."

"My place is to be with Gyric. That is all I ever cared about."

She answered with gentleness, but with resolve. "Your role is a far greater one than that. You have wed the second son of the most powerful ealdorman in Wessex. There are many rights, and also many bounden duties, with that role. You are fulfilling them all. Not one year into your union, and you have already borne an heir for this heirless hall. Godwulf's gratitude to you will be endless."

I was too surprised to speak, and she went on. "Forgive me for the frankness of my speech. It was a quality that Godwin always valued in me."

"I am honoured that you speak to me thus."

She smiled, and then bit her lip for a moment. "You have doubtless heard something of me," she prompted.

"Yes, indeed," I answered, and thought of the first thing Godwin had ever said about her. "The morning Gyric and I arrived at Kilton, Godwin told me that you would like me."

She almost laughed, a gentle sighing laugh. "But that is really about you, is it not?"

I felt abashed. "Yes, you are right, " I admitted.

She shook her head, and with her gentle fingers pushed a wisp of hair back under her head wrap. "Forgive me, I am just being cross-grained. A fault of mine. Go on."

I tried to tell the truth with care. "He told us that you had gone home to your shire, but that there was no trouble between you, and that you were a good woman. Then I told him that I was sure you were a very good woman, and that I hoped you would come back to Kilton soon so I might meet you. That is when he said he thought you would like me."

She nodded her head. "And that is all that you have heard?"

"No," I confessed. "Gyric told me when we were upon the road, making our way here, that you had been wed to Godwin for six years, and that it was your sorrow not to be able to bear a live child."

Her brows drew together, and her voice was very low. "I fear that is the sum total of my story: 'Poor Edgyth.'"

Our eyes met, and she went on in the same low but steady tone. "Now it is nearly seven years," she ended, "tho' I have seen so little of my husband this past year."

"Why did you leave Kilton?" I made bold to ask.

"I had no choice but to leave."

"Godwin sent you away?" I could not believe it.

"No, no. He would never send me away. I had no choice within my own heart; I could not stay. It was too painful to stay."

"Because of...this sorrow?"

"Yes." Her voice was even softer. "Godwin wants, and needs, an heir. In six years I was gotten with his child eight times. At first, as soon as I was certain I was with child, there would be an issue of blood, and I would lose it. Months would pass, and I would again conceive. I tried every remedy to keep my babes, even to making myself sick with draughts of burdock. But nothing would allow me to bear a quick child. Some I lost at three months, some at five. Twice I bore the babe right to the eighth month."

"How terrible for you," I said. I wanted to take her hand, but did not have the boldness to do so. Her eyes, tho' gentle, held within them a distance, as if she spoke not of herself, but of another.

"Yes," she murmured. "It was very terrible, for me, and for Godwin. Terrible for a great source of pleasure to become a great source of sorrow."

I thought of all the nights and mornings of love spent with Gyric, and how I should feel if these fleshly joys be lost to us.

"But...he still cares for you," I offered.

Her answer was quick, but the voice still low and mild. "He cannot bear to look at me. Not that I ever was a feast to the eye. What little looks were mine have been bled out of me with my lost babes. There has been too much pain between us. Every glance seems a reproach, from Godwin, from all of them. Even Modwynn."

I could hear naught against her, and began to speak, but Edgyth lifted her hand.

"Modwynn is too kind to reproach me, even with her eyes. But her pity is even harder to bear."

I had no answer for this. I had learnt much about pity, I thought, for I saw it in the eyes of all when they looked upon Gyric. Of all those in Kilton I thought I was the only one who did not pity him, for I was the one who never knew him whole. I had found him, blinded, filthy, and near death, in the cellars of a keep far from here, and had carried him away that he might live. On our journey to safety I grew to love him, and loved him as he was, and could never know what he had been before. With him I first knew desire, and the great joy of passing from maiden to wife; and now the fierce sweet bond of motherhood. All my world and happiness lay within him and what he had given me. Pity was no part of my love.

Edgyth spoke again, with words that were awful to hear, and worse to speak. "I am nothing more than a dried relic of a love that was once warm and strong."

My protest died on my lips; the sudden earnestness in her grey eyes stayed me.

"That is why I travel to Glastunburh, to think on this. Godwin could be released from the marriage vows, and take a new wife, and have the joy with her that you and Gyric feel now. We could in law dissolve our marriage, and his vows would be annulled."

"His vows? And what of yours?"

"My vows to him will never be null; say whatever bishops or law-code will. But if we jointly agree to dissolve our union, or if I take the veil, he will be free to wed again."

"You love him this much?"

She dipped her chin the slightest bit. "Is there truly a choice? If I stay wedded to Godwin, I will force him into the bed of another woman, and that I could not bear. He will turn to the village, and get himself a son there easily enough, and no one will blame him. There is no shame in being a lord's bastard." This last word hung on her pale lips.

"Do your parents, and Godwulf and Modwynn, agree with all this?"

"Yes; and no. Godwulf and Modwynn have been aggrieved at my barren marriage, but their loyalty to me and my folk runs deep. Then there is the matter of treasure. My dowry was a rich one, for my parents greatly wished this match for me. They in no wise want this union to end, but should it, they will sue for its return, or at least for much of it. Godwin will not find it easy to part with so much silver. Whatever I do, there will be a price to pay."

"And what of Godwin?" I asked, almost fearing to know. I did not want to think less of him in any way.

"He will neither ask me to stay, nor bid me go." She looked straight ahead for a moment. "So I go to Glastunburh, and there will seek an answer." She studied her hands, flat upon the tabletop. "Perhaps I will find a vocation, some ghostly guidance. I have some skill at herb-craft, and would learn more; there are nuns there known for their leech-craft. At least I will find a measure of peace, away from the urgings of my parents and the longings of Godwin."

I thought of the foundation of Glastunburh, and of all the great ladies that must be holy women there, and all the learning and books stored up between peaceful walls. There might be solace there for Edgyth. Then I thought of my own life, and early yearnings for I knew not what.

"I was Priory-raised," I told her, "and there is peace in that life, for some. I was not one of them."

"Fate brought you here instead, to our beloved Kilton." She ended, "And tomorrow I fear Fate may lead me away from it, forever."

The crunch of gravel underfoot told me that Gyric was come. I rose and opened the door to him, and holding his spear in his hand as a staff, he stepped within. Edgyth came to his side and in her low and calm voice spoke. 

"Brother, if ever a man was worthy of good wife it is you, and as further blessing God has given you a son both fine and lusty. Recalling you three will serve as a most happy remembrance in the days before me."

She kissed us all and so took her leave of us. Ceric started to fuss, and then to cry, and my breasts, heavy with milk, began to flow in answer. I dropped the front of my suckling-shift, and settled in my chair. Ceric's sobs ceased as his seeking mouth found my nipple. The babe pulled strongly at my milk-swollen breast, its hardness softening quickly under his greedy mouth. His tiny hand splayed against my skin, and his body relaxed against mine in contentment. 

I was safe and well, and greatly loved, and had a healthy babe as part of that love. I had in full measure that which was denied Edgyth. Her name meant 'gift of happiness' but little happiness had she given, or received. Even the house in which I dwelt and the bed in which I lay had been denied her, and as I sat there I wondered why Fate had dealt thus with us.

Gyric spoke not, just listened with intent to the gurglings and sighings of his infant son. He reached with his hand and found the little one in my arms. His fingers gently touched the linen veil and stroked the babe's head. All the dark birthing hair had fallen away, and now Ceric's head was as pale and smooth as the egg of a goose.

"He has hair," said Gyric after a moment. "I can feel it."

I moved my own hand to touch the babe's crown. "You are right, I can just feel it too, tho' I can see nothing; it is that fair."

"I am thankful we will not have a bald child," said Gyric.

"He is only as bald as you and Godwin were," I answered, glad to be playful. "Your mother says Ceric looks just as you two did, and you grew hair in abundance." And with a little tug I pulled at a lock of Gyric's red-gold hair as it lay upon his shoulder.

"Are his eyes still blue?" ventured Gyric in a low voice.

"Yes, dark blue; but Modwynn says the eyes of all new babes are thus. They will come to their true colour soon enough."

"They will be green," said Gyric. "Like yours...and...all of us."

"Yes," I said, keeping my voice light. "I am sure he will look just like you."

He nodded his head, and then found my free hand and pressed it to his lips. "It is as Edgyth said. You are everything," he murmured.

"I am part of everything, everything that is good and loving in your world," I told him.

"You are my world," he answered gravely.

I wanted to counter this, but as gently as I could. "No, my love, do not say that. Not when you have so much to give."

"Without you I would have been dead these twelve months."

"Without you none of these joys would be mine. The joy of being your wife, of our child, of all the comforts and pleasures of life here at Kilton." I thought of Edgyth, so gentle, so learned, and so unhappy. I touched his face. "You have given me so much."

He nodded his head, but with no real conviction. The set of his mouth, the angle of his head, the slightest gesture of his hand, told me he could not believe my earnest words.