Part 13 (1/2)

Just as the army returned home the King of Norway, Harold Hardraade, decided to press his tenuous claim to the English throne. Joining with Earl Tostig, he swept down the Yorks.h.i.+re coast. Young Earl Morkar sent to his brother, Earl Edwin, for help. This time a call to arms arrived at Aelfleah.

”We must go,” said Aldwine Athelsbeorn.

”But why?” Eada demanded. ”Did you not say you would not answer the fyrd?”

”I said I would not fight William of Normandy, but this is not William. It is that d.a.m.ned savage Norwegian, and Tostig! How can I refuse Earl Edwin's call to aid his brother? I am a Mercian, and it is Mercia's earl who asks my help. Brand and I must go.”

Brand was beside himself with excitement. He was past twenty, but had never had the opportunity to partic.i.p.ate in a battle. Joyfully he prepared his weapons, sharpening his sword blade, honing his spear, while his mother grimly checked his chain mail to be certain that it was in good order.

Mairin took Dagda aside. ”Go with them,” she begged. ”I know that it has been many years since you have smelt the winds of war, and I do not ask you to fight, but stay near them, Dagda. Bring them safely home.”

Dagda did not ask her what she saw in the runes she had cast although he had seen her spread the stones upon their velvet cloth three times. He knew he would come back safely because Mairin would have warned him if he needed to take extra care.

In the days following their departure the women of Aelfleah manor completed their ch.o.r.es as if in a daze. It had been many years since their village had been touched by war. The old women shook their heads and told terrible tales while the young women fretted for the safe return of husbands and lovers. They arose at first light, and sought their beds shortly after sunset. Each found comfort in sleep. Mairin did not.

At York a great battle was fought, and the Norwegians triumphed. There was terrible slaughter of the English forces. Dagda gathered together those of Aelfleah's people who were alive and recalling his old battle skills, he circ.u.mvented the Norwegians and led them all home to their quiet valley. Seeing the look on Eada's face as he gave her the body of her only son for burial, he realized the futility of war, and wept with her.

As they stood by Brand's grave he said to Eada, ”If it is any consolation, I can tell you that Brand was as brave and n.o.ble a warrior as any I have ever seen. It was an awful battle for his baptism of fire. More skilled men than he lost their lives.”

She nodded silently, and he knew his words had brought her a small measure of comfort. He was grateful she did not ask the circ.u.mstances of her son's death, for Dagda did not think he could relate the truth to this gentle woman.

Mairin, of course, had asked him, and he had told her that as Brand knelt over his injured father he was struck from behind by a helmeted warrior who then disappeared back into the thick of the battle. He told her of the look of total surprise that filled Brand's blue eyes in the instant of his death.

”You cast the runes thrice,” he said. ”Did they not warn you of this tragedy?”

”You know how hard it is for me to see things relating to those closest to me,” she answered him. ”I asked the runes if father and Brand would return home. Thrice I asked, and three times the runes said they would return. It did not occur to me that Brand would be dead, and father mortally wounded. If I had been more specific I might have warned them.”

”Then it was their fate,” replied Dagda. ”You are not to blame. How could you have known?”

Aldwine Athelsbeorn lay dying in his own bed. He called for Eada, Mairin, Dagda, the priest from the village church, and as many of his people as could crowd into his bedchamber. Gathering the last of his strength he told them, ”My son is dead, but my daughter lives. It is she that I designate my heiress. It is she to whom I leave all my worldly goods, my lands, and whatever wealth I have managed to acc.u.mulate. Do you swear to me that you will give her your fealty?” He fell back against his pillows, and for a moment his eyes closed. Then they opened and focused sharply on the people about him.

A chorus of ”Ayes” echoed throughout the room.

”Father,” he continued, ”will you swear to any who ask that it was my last wish that the lady Mairin be my heiress?”

”Aye, my lord,” said Father Albert. ”I will so swear upon the blessed body of Christ crucified, and upon the tears his holy Mother Mary shed.”

”Mairin, my daughter, will you keep my fealty to Duke William?”

”Aye, father.” The tears coursed down her cheeks. The knowledge that she was losing the wonderful man who had rescued her and who had become her parent was incredibly painful.

”And you will care for your mother?”

She nodded, reaching out to take Eada's hand, unable to speak now.

He fastened his dimming gaze upon Eada. A weak smile lit his face. ”Ahh,” he said, ”you are as beautiful now as the day I first saw you in your father's hall. Protect Mairin. Love each other after I am gone as you have loved each other in my lifetime.”

”Do not leave me, my lord,” Eada wept. ”What is there for me without you?” She was visibly paler.

”There is our daughter, Eada! You cannot leave her to fend for herself. She needs you! It is not G.o.d's will that you come with me. You have been the best, nay, the most perfect of wives. Never have you disobeyed me. This is the hardest task that G.o.d has ever set for us both-to go on without each other-but surely it is meant to be else he would not ask it of us. If you love me you will do this for me.” He fell back again amid the pillows of his bed, ashen, his breathing now rasping painfully.

”I love you,” she whispered. ”There was never anyone but you, and though it pains me I will obey you, my lord, in this last thing.”

He smiled faintly at her. Then he said, ”I love you too, my true heart, but I must go. Brand awaits me. He is even now calling to me.”

She saw the life flee from his eyes, and she fell upon his chest sobbing. For over twenty-five years she had shared his life, and now he was gone. She was alone. Then she felt Mairin's hands gently drawing her away, and held in her daughter's embrace she realized that she was not alone. The greatest gift that Aldwine had ever given her was on an autumn day long ago when he had come home from London with a giant of an Irishman, and the most beautiful girl-child that had ever been born in his keeping. Now he had put them into each other's keeping. She looked up at her daughter saying, ”How do we go on, my child? I feel that you are wiser than I.”

Mairin sighed. ”I suppose,” she said, ”that we begin at the beginning, mother. We will bury father next to Brand, and then we will continue as we have always done. The harvest must be completed. None of what has happened today will prevent the winter from coming this year. If I am to feed and protect our people we must gather in all the foodstuffs that we can.” She turned to the priest. ”Father Albert, we will bury my father tomorrow after his people have paid him their respects. You will put in the church book that on this Michaelmas Day, in the year 1066, Aldwine Athelsbeorn joined his Lord and that it was a sad day for all his people of Aelfleah.”

Those at Aelfleah did not learn until weeks later that on the same day that Aldwine Athelsbeorn had died, William, Duke of Normandy, had landed at Pevensey. Several days later the decisive battle for England was fought at Hastings, and Harold G.o.dwinson was killed along with his brothers Leofwine and Gyrth.

In London Archbishop Aldred and the townspeople attempted to place the child, Edgar the Atheling, the last in the line of Wess.e.x kings, upon the throne. Earls Edwin and Morkar swore fealty to the child. In the end, however, the archbishop, the young Edgar Atheling, Earls Edwin and Morkar, and the influential citizens of London, capitulated to William of Normandy. They gave him hostages, and swore their loyalty to him. William in return promised to be a good king to them, but he also allowed his men three days' plunder to punish the English for their resistance to his claim of sovereignty.

At Aelfleah none of this was known, for the very isolation that had protected the manor over the years also made it the last place in Earl Edwin's domain that news arrived. On St. Hilda's Day, the eighteenth of November, Mairin was returning from the woods with a party of young girls with whom she had been nutting. Having taken on her father's heavy responsibilities she had found little time for levity and had needed this respite from more pressing manor business. She rarely had time to ride Thunderer, who was restless from inactivity. Now as they came laughing and chatting from the woodland they saw a party of armed and mounted men just coming across the ford in the river. The village girls stopped. Eyeing the men warily they then looked to Mairin for direction.

”Stay by me, la.s.ses,” she ordered them. ”There is always safety in numbers.”

They cl.u.s.tered about her like a group of chicks to a hen. The hors.e.m.e.n approached them. When the strangers had drawn level with them they stopped, and one man, better dressed than the others and obviously the leader, said, ”Is this the manor of Aelfleah?”

”Who seeks to know, my lord?” Mairin answered him.

The knight's eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. Although he had spoken in English she answered him in perfect and unaccented Norman French. He had spotted her immediately as the leader of this pretty pack of females, deciding that if she belonged to the manor she would warm his bed this night. It was obvious, however, that she was not a serf. ”I am Josselin de Combourg, the new lord of this manor,” he said, ”and who, my beauty, might you be?”

”I am Mairin Alwinesdotter, the heiress to the manor of Aelfleah, my lord. As that obviously puts us at an impa.s.se of sorts, may I suggest that you come into the hall where we may speak further on this.”

”William of Normandy rules in England this day,” said the knight.

”Thanks to a merciful G.o.d, my lord,” she answered him piously. ”The fealty of this manor has always belonged to King William. Will you tell your men to stable their own horses? My people will help them. Then they may come into the hall for refreshment.” Dismissing him momentarily she turned back to the girls who accompanied her and said, ”Take your nuts to the granary to be culled and stored. Then return quickly to your homes.” Returning her attention to the knight, she smiled up at him disarmingly and put her hand upon his bridle. ”Come, my lord, I will show you the way.”

Josselin de Combourg did not know whether to be amused or angry. He wisely decided upon the former emotion. The exquisite beauty so calmly leading his ma.s.sive mount up to the door of Aelfleah's manor house possessed great presence in the face of his news. Who was she? The king had said nothing about an heiress to Aelfleah. Learning that both Aldwine Athelsbeorn and his only son had been recently killed, and that Aelfleah was near the border between England and Wales, William had given the manor to his friend. Hastings' victor would not take the estates of the Saxon thegns who had sworn fealty to him, Aelfleah was already loyal to him. Its strategic location made it imperative that it remain in loyal hands.

Mairin was furious, but knew she must remain calm in the face of this sudden danger. How dare William of Normandy offer her inheritance to this knight! What did he think would become of her and Eada without lands? Were they to be robbed of their home as well as Aldwine and Brand? It was obvious that William of Normandy was a callous man, but Mairin had no intention of sitting calmly by while someone else rearranged her life for her yet again. The lady Blanche had done so to her, and she had been powerless to prevent it. Bellisarius had done so when he killed Basil. This time she would fight! She would not let others rule her or Eada or Aelfleah and its people!

She ushered Josselin de Combourg into the Hall. Eada, who had been working upon a tapestry, arose and came forward to greet the guest. ”Welcome to Aelfleah, my lord,” she said in her gentle voice. ”I am the lady Eada, widow to Aldwine Athelsbeorn.”

Josselin was feeling distinctly uncomfortable now. The sweet-faced woman before him had not been overlooked by the king. Indeed she had been put in his charge, but try as he might he could remember no mention of a daughter. What was he to do with her? Was she also his responsibility? She had not the gentle look of her mother.

”There is a widow,” William had distinctly said. ”If you fancy her then marry her though she may be a bit long in the tooth for you. If she is not to your tastes you must nonetheless protect and shelter her as if she were a member of your own family. Aldwine Athelsbeorn's fealty to me demands that I see to the comfort and safety of his widow. Perhaps she will prefer returning to her brother's hall. If so, give her pa.s.sage. Perhaps she will want to remarry. If that be the case then see that she is dowered. Perhaps she will require nothing more than to remain at Aelfleah for the rest of her days. If that be the case you must treat her with kindness and give her an honored place at your table, and in your hall.”

Josselin had agreed for it was the honorable thing to do. The confrontation with the daughter had complicated things immeasurably. Drawing a deep breath he said in response to Eada's greeting, ”I am Josselin de Combourg, my lady Eada.”

”The new lord of Aelfleah manor,” said Mairin sweetly.

Josselin frowned at Mairin though it did not disquiet her in the least.

”I do not understand,” said Eada, with a confused look in her eyes.

”What is to understand, mother? William of Normandy has rewarded my father's fealty to him by dispossessing his heiress and his widow of their lands! Tell me, my lord de Combourg, will my mother and I be allowed to keep our personal possessions when we are driven from our home? Must we go today, or will you give us till the morning to gather our things?” She stood glaring at him defiantly, her hands upon her hips.

Strangely he understood her anger for had he found himself in a similar situation he would have felt anger too. He could not, however, countenance her rudeness before the servants. ”I am certain, my lady Mairin, that your gentle mother has taught you better manners than you show me. Obviously your doting father did not beat you enough to reinforce those lessons.”