Avelynn Page 5

  The women were adding their own distinctive touch to the frenzied energy, cooing and flirting until the atmosphere around the royal manor felt more like a Saturnalia festival than a pious Christian one. I caught a glance of Ealhswith doting on Alfred as he made ready to mount his horse. He wore a stunning red jacket with gold embroidery along the edges and a mantle made from the pelt of a bear. He laughed at something Ealhswith said, kissed her cheek, and then swung up into the saddle. He swept her a deep bow and took his place at his brother’s side.

  The Ecgberht brothers made quite an attractive pair. Aethelred was taller than Alfred, and wore his auburn hair slightly longer, but they both had the same warm brown eyes, slender face, and rosy mouth.

  All around me, women were giving trinkets of good luck to the men of their choice. I had nothing to give Wulfstan, so I just smiled. “Good luck,” I said as he pulled himself up onto his horse.

  He flashed a brilliant smile. I kicked myself again for rejecting him. “Good day, Lady Avelynn,” he replied, and spurred his horse into action, trotting away from me.

  Demas was mounted next to my father. They were laughing. I scowled. Maybe they should be the ones getting married. I set my hands on my hips and brewed with righteous ire. A pair of familiar arms embraced me from behind. My annoyance melted immediately. I turned and grabbed the gloved hands in mine.

  “How are you, my friend?” I asked.

  Ealhswith always looked radiant. But now she positively glowed. Her skin was luminous, and her straight coppery hair, brushed to a brilliant sheen, contrasted vibrantly with the rich green of her dress. Unlike other married women, Ealhswith didn’t hide her hair under a wimple. The only reason she wasn’t reprimanded by the bishops was because Alfred liked her hair unbound. She had been right—being married to the brother of the king had its advantages. But not every custom was negotiable, and she did have to make one sacrifice. The church mandated that she cut her hair to the middle of her back, so all would know she was no longer a virgin.

  “I’m much better than you, I think.” She inclined her head in Demas’s direction.

  “Humph.”

  “I see.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me to the main hall.

  The huntsman blew his horn, and all the women bustled back away from the stables. The tethered hounds were released, and a host of fur and teeth started off in fervent pursuit of the quarry, barking and yapping in earnest. The huntsman and his dogs were followed by all the king’s men, as they rallied with raucous shouts of anticipation, speeding off in search of their prey, a flurry of hooves kicking up turf and dirt in their wake.

  King Aethelred’s wife, Wulfrida, was rounding up the women, escorting them back to her chambers, where we were to await our heroes’ faithful return from their quest. Ealhswith steered me in the opposite direction, and we ducked into the great hall.

  The hall was decorated with fresh evergreen boughs and beautiful wall-clothing. The head table was at the east end on a raised dais, and there was a large space in front that would serve as the stage for this afternoon’s entertainment. It sat empty save for a single lyre leaning against a stool in the corner. The feasting tables were placed around the room, several rows deep, so that they encircled the central hearth where the great Yule log burned steadily. Each table was adorned with rich, colorful linen and crowned with a magnificent centerpiece of wooden birds. Carved in a dizzying array of shapes and sizes, the birds were arranged in nests of dried and fresh greenery. A life-size swan embellished the head table, its stately presence peering over the table and stage below. Bread trenchers marked each man’s place. Glass and bone drinking horns rested beside each trencher, and oil lamps and candle trees lit up the hall until it shimmered with elegance and finery.

  “Wulfrida outdid herself.”

  “She’s been preparing for the three-day feast for the past three months,” Ealhswith said, and steered me away from the head table to one of the simple benches at the farthest end of the hall. These would be the seats for the lower classes and lesser thegns.

  She yanked me down onto the bench. “What’s going on with you? Last we spoke, you were determined to get out of this betrothal, yet today your father announces your engagement at court?”

  “My father has been impossible. Marriage is his decision, not mine. However, I did come here willing to give Demas another chance.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Really?”

  I shrugged. “I received a vision and decided to proceed with the courtship.”

  “A vision?” She dropped her voice into a whisper. “Avelynn, you know I accept your faith, but there are others here, despite your father’s position at court, who would see you hang for such talk.”

  I nodded, remembering my surroundings. “Regardless, while I may be willing to give Demas another opportunity to captivate me, I haven’t agreed to marriage.”

  The look in Ealhswith’s eyes told me she doubted I’d have a choice, but I chose to ignore it.

  “Now, enough about me.” I straightened, eyeing her slim figure. “How is my goddaughter ever to get big and strong if you don’t get big and fat?”

  She was reluctant to let the topic go, but a discussion about her unborn child proved too tempting to ignore. After a few moments of pleasant chatter, our hiding place was discovered by an austere and rather disagreeable matron charged with the task of commandeering us, and we were marshaled to Wulfrida’s chambers to join the rest of the women.

  Wessex was a large territory. It would take a stealthy messenger seven days to navigate from one end to the other. Feast days were an opportune time to catch up on the country’s affairs, since noblemen and their wives attended from all over the region.

  Stifling an epidemic of yawns, I learned who had given birth in the past year, who had died, how the harvest had fared in each part of the country, and how easily the taxes had been levied. It was a great relief to hear the huntsman’s horn, heralding the men’s victorious return from the hunt. Women scurried and bustled to grab cloaks and gloves, and the men thundered to the stables.

  Under the watchful eyes of the stable marshal, grooms quickly whisked the horses away to be washed down and fed. Pages scurried to the kitchens. Two strapping young lads carried the prize to one of the cooking pits, the stag hanging upside down, its legs tied to spear shafts. Everyone else converged on the hall for supper.

  Weapons were not permitted inside, save a small knife, which would serve as the only eating utensil. Spears, swords, shields, and axes were all left leaning against the outer walls, several armed sentries in charge of their keep. The atmosphere was jovial, everyone reveling in tales from the hunt as we followed the king inside. Cleaning bowls had been set up, and servants stood by with fresh towels so we could wash our hands before sitting.

  King Aethelred and Wulfrida sat at the head table, Alfred and Ealhswith to their left, Bishop Ealhferth to their right. Our party sat nearest the hearth, and I was maneuvered diplomatically so that Demas sat immediately to my right, with my father, and Ealdorman Aethelwulf of Berkshire and his wife, Cyneburga, sitting in succession next to him.

  Aethelred stood. “Welcome, friends.” He spread his arms to encompass the entire hall. “May God keep you safe, healthy, and well this Christmastide and through the year to come.” This oration was met with a resounding clamor as men pounded their fists on the tables, shouting, “Hear, hear!” or “May God keep you well, my lord!” or some such other apposite discourse.

  Aethelred picked up his drinking horn and waited as Wulfrida came round the front of the table. She curtsied to her lord and husband and fetched a pitcher of wine from a waiting steward. She poured the rich garnet liquid into his drinking horn and he raised it high, waiting.

  Ealhswith joined Wulfrida, and together with several pages, they went from table to table filling drinking horns, each man standing in turn, holding his horn high in response.

  The two women were complete opposites. Wulfrida was older, more matronly, with an austere co
untenance, her long black hair bound in volutes and hidden under her wimple. Ealhswith, on the other hand, chatted animatedly with the men she served, her hair flowing softly down her back.

  With the first round of cups filled, Wulfrida and Ealhswith returned to the head table.

  “Waeshael! Be well!” Aethelred hailed, and downed the contents of his horn.

  “Drinkhael! Drink and be well!” each man replied. Horns lifted in unison and men swallowed, not stopping until they finished every last drop.

  Once the toasting was completed, servants streamed in with plates of delicacies. The first course was an assortment of vegetables, including carrots, beans, and burdock flavored with imported ginger and wrapped in thin pastry. Next followed skewers of beef and pork spiced with pepper.

  We had sweet courses of figs and grapes, honey and almond cakes, and apple-sloe purée served over cheesecake. From land and sea, we were served oysters, mussels, and lobster in a rich butter sauce; filets of trout and perch; and a pottage of roasted duck and vegetables. There were soft cheeses and bread and a collection of boiled eggs in a nest of shredded cabbage. A cooked plover—plumage reapplied—sat in the center.

  Wine, ale, and mead flowed continuously. While I did a valiant job, I was only nibbling a taste of each offering after the fourth course. Demas and my father, however, did not hold back in the least. I couldn’t tell how Aethelwulf’s wife, Cyneburga, was making out, but Aethelwulf’s hand kept reaching out for more as platters were brought past the table.

  Conversation was at first limited to oohs and ahs—remarkably quiet for a gathering of a hundred people—but as the drink continued to flow, the conversations grew louder and more boisterous, and arms and hands gesticulated copiously.

  After the first few courses, I tried to engage Demas in conversation. He sat with his back to me, his attention focused on whatever my father was saying.

  Spying a page carrying a tray of honey cakes, I gestured him closer and grabbed two of the sticky treats. I placed one of the sweets on Demas’s trencher.

  He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned.

  “How did you find the hunt?” I asked him.

  “Well.”

  “Did you get a chance to speak with the king?”

  “Your father introduced me, yes.” His body was still turned away from me.

  “Did you have hunts in Rome?”

  “No.”

  My father looked in our direction and smiled his approval of our engaging discourse.

  I frowned.

  “Is that all?” he asked.

  “No.”

  It was his turn to frown.

  “Is there any particular reason you’re ignoring me?”

  “Your father is more interesting.” A twitch at the corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk.

  “I am to be your wife, not him.”

  “Wives are meant to be silent and obedient. A lesson you would be wise to learn.” He laid a hand on his belt and turned back to my father.

  I prodded him on the shoulder. “Are you threatening me?” My voice dropped to a hissing whisper. The man’s audacity knew no bounds.

  “I am merely reminding you of your place.” He looked around. “Though perhaps we could continue this conversation later.”

  I followed his gaze. King Aethelred was watching us. I bit my tongue and bowed my head. He nodded and turned his attention to Alfred.

  Sufficiently silenced, I vowed to confront Demas after the feast. If he thought he could speak to me, or treat me in such a dismissive manner, he was gravely mistaken. I was beginning to have my doubts as to whether or not the vision had anything to do with his pompous ass.

  Unable to address the issue for the moment, I distracted myself, and my temper, by gazing around the room. Placated with liberal amounts of alcohol, everyone else seemed to be having a good time. Even Bishop Ealhferth’s smile was jubilant. His paunch bulged under his long white alb, the fringed edges of his stole lying almost flat on the convex of his stomach. Ealhswith would occasionally catch my eye and gesture to Demas, but I shook my head, earning a reproving glower in response.

  When the procession of foodstuffs was completed, the stage was set for our entertainment. Jesters and actors caroused and cajoled with great comedy, enacting skits of romantic mishaps and calamity, or juggling and dropping balls, sticks, and rings. Musicians proffered bagpipes, trumpets, flutes, and drums, and entertainers jumped and tumbled through the open space. Finally, the gleeman appeared with his lyre, while the scop settled himself on his stool, ready to enthrall the crowd with his esteemed storytelling.

  It was always the same. Each story portrayed a brave and virtuous man who vanquished his enemies with skill and valor. He was able to do all this because he possessed the highest caliber of virtues and values of any man in the land, earning God’s favor in all actions. The names, places, and dates were different, of course, customized to each wealthy benefactor, but the plotline was generally the same. In this instance, the stories praised our mighty king, Aethelred.

  After the unapologetic adulation, the scop broke into well-known songs and poems of love, loss, and daring. By the time he finished, the entire hall sang along with him. A great cheer erupted when he finally bowed in closing.

  With the celebrations winding down, we all headed back into the Minster for mass. Fortunately, the amount of wine Ealhferth had consumed softened his disposition. So, rather than dispense his usual threatening rhetoric, he was instead disposed to describe the beneficence of the Lord, recounting His loving, helpful ways and the manner in which we all could show Him our eternal love and gratitude. It was a much gentler mass and—thank the loving, kind, beneficent God—a much briefer one too.

  The mass ended, and the men returned to the hall to continue the celebrations where they’d left off. Only this time, the plentiful drink was to be augmented with games of strategy, dice, and heavy gambling. The women were to bypass these baser aspects of the feast and, without much ado, were ushered to the guest building to pass the remainder of the evening in innocent slumber. I, however, was not willing to lay things to bed for the night.

  I marched up to Demas, whose lips were miraculously not attached to my father’s ass, and pulled hard on his shoulder. “A word, sir.”

  He looked at me and frowned. “Walk with me a moment.”

  I matched his pace, walking in silence until we were out of earshot of any other soul. Torches flickered around the manor, and he stopped just within the reach of their pale light.

  “I had hoped to spare you this discomfort, but your insistence has made that impossible.” He pulled his cloak tightly around his shoulders. “I sought marriage with you because it is what my uncle wanted. He felt our marriage would make a strong and powerful alliance. With the land bequeathed to you after your father’s death, and the land I now hold, you would be one of the most powerful women in Wessex. You would oversee all responsibilities of the manor, its servants and its function. But,” he said, glaring down at me, “you would be wise to remember your place. Your father has done you a great disservice by allowing you such a long lead. I will not tolerate your disrespect or your willfulness. You are to speak only when spoken to and do as you are bid.”

  Metallic heat burned in my cheeks, and I drew in a slow, steady breath. “I will not be treated like a slave. There are men here tonight who would give me their very heart and soul if I agreed to marry them. Why should I settle for less?”

  “Those men you speak of, lady, tried to woo you, and look where it got them.” He patted my head absently. “I’m not here to fill your mind with fanciful illusions. I’m here to make a profitable transaction. You can either accept my suit graciously, and with it a place of extravagance and enviable nobility, or content yourself with taking slop out to my pigs.”

  “I will do no such thing.”

  “You won’t have a choice.”

  He turned to walk away, but hesitated and looked back. “After hearing tales of your
capriciousness, I thought it was you who I needed to woo, but I quickly realized I was pursuing the wrong person.” He smiled. “I pledged my allegiance to the master who truly controls your strings, little puppet, and whether you like it or not, your father will see us married.”

  SIX

  Riding with a handful of my father’s thegns and several pages, we made our way home, the Christmas festivities and Winchester a half day’s ride behind us. I had asked Wulfric to maintain a pace several lengths behind so I could speak to my father alone.

  “He’s using me,” I cried. “He’ll toss me aside and steal your title and wealth.”

  “He will have a hard time at it, since I am still very much alive and breathing.” My father looked sourly at me. His breath, plentiful and vigorous, puffed into great clouds of white in the frigid air.

  “I beg you, release me from this betrothal.”

  “My decision is final.”

  “You’re casting me into the lion’s den, to be ravaged and ripped apart. Nothing will be left of me when he’s finished taking what he wants.”

  “You are overreacting.”

  “No, I’m not. He’s rude and arrogant. He threatened me.”

  “I saw the two of you speaking at the feast. He was nothing if not courteous and charming.”

  “Around you he is the shining, dutiful hero, but with me, he is the Devil incarnate. You’ve wronged me, Father, insisting on this farce of a marriage.”

  “Enough. You will marry Demas during the harvest festival and not revisit this conversation again. If you so much as mention it in my hearing, I will send you to Glastonbury to spend the next eight months of your betrothal in pious contemplation with the nuns. Am I understood?”

  I gritted my teeth and nodded. I wanted to scream. He had raised me as equal to Edward, led me to believe there was nothing I could not accomplish, nothing I could not do. He molded me, instructed me, allowed me to entertain the fanciful idea that one day I, his daughter and eldest child, would take over the running of the estate. My mother had encouraged it, fostered it, and my father had agreed. He seemed to take great pride in my ability to read and write, in my sense of fairness and reason. But it was all a lie. He never had any intention of giving me the responsibility, the chance. That more than anything else hurt beyond all measure.